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Root

Walking down the smooth lane
Of big cities I still feel the country air
That I have left a decade ago in my face;
The dead dog by the road side
Reminds me of the lizard we used to
Throw stones at and kill under the trees;
I could smell the cowdung in the exhaust
Fumes of vehicles running past me;
I have brought with me all those smells
And fragrances the dead lotus and morning
Flowers give to stay alive in this pell-mell
Of hate, robbery, hunger and ugliness;
I have in me the scent of my mother’s womb too
To beat the stench coming out the rotten
Blood of the beggar woman ran over by a bus;
I have to live to keep alive to feel the soil
When I pace the marble floor of the flat
And wish I should not have been born there
To stay alone and get humiliated here.

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Comments (3)

A dilemma of many whose roots are there in their native soil...nostalgia is v obvious...the lines are wearing somber shade! ! ! ! !
A person born in a serene village always longs for its unalloyed bliss! I too am often plagued by the same sense of nostalgia! Now we feel so restless amid all hustle and din around! But it is more of a difference of time than of a change of scene! A beautiful poem! In this context, I invite you to read my poem 'My Fractured Identity!
Brutal but brilliant..........