With many a dance beat You had come
Unto my paltry hut,
Late upon that night rain-washed.
There'd been no oil or matchstick;
A lantern did not blaze to raze the dark.
In secret had it been, Your going and coming,
With divine game to inflate my sobbing and laughing...
Granting a mute soul leave to speak
In hurricane and hailstorm.
Advent in stealth and exit surreptitiously,
Acquisition of a flash of light momentary...
Afterward I'm singing songs, based on memory,
To forget an adverse thought.
Sarkarverse article
Audio recording
Tuesday, September 12, 2023
Admitting I lost
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Lord, I've had enough... none can match Your love for sport.
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