….and if your conscience
Has OD’d 
On too much truth
And lies forlorn and forsaken,
Then pick it up,
Or let it be,
And leave ( if you must).

If your soul
Tattered and torn as it is
Lies somewhere underneath
The dirty linen
The cob-webbed skeletons
The letters, lost, and then found ( accidentally?deliberately?)
And rotting rosebuds marking page 73
That run through our lives
Like faults and fissures on parched
Famished lands

….and if your soul
Like the saraswati
Has burrowed deep inside
These famished lands
Never wanting to come back

I will plant my flowers and fruits
My gardens of gratuitous appeasement 
My orchards of occasional love and
Seasonal devotion
My forests of frigid,fleeting forgiveness
And wait.


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