as parched
as the sands of Sahara
so am I;
Oasis of victuals long lost,
thistles and thorns.
Bereft of lush,of green bereft.
Panting in despair like a thirsty hare,
I stand, bent and helpless,
admiring in sweet anguish,
the beautiful flames of my burning bush.

With weak smiles
drawing wrinkles lines
of uncertainties on my face,
I chew bitter cords of fate
I play bitter chords of fate
on an old stringless guitar.
Why do I suffer?
I starved no one!
You've got the wrong man, karma!
Am I some kinda Christ?
Star with black stripes
sit on my clay crown.
I stay me down,
seated on my clay throne.
Is this royalty?
Sympathy, heavens! Sympathy


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