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Durlabh Singh

I fell asleep

In middle of the night

Or perhaps it was a day

Feigning the darkness.

There was a beggar

At my tapped door

Begging for a silver spoon

Or perhaps for a pot of gold.

A limpid long life

Like flow of a river

Descending into the dust

Perhaps in harassed fever.

If I was asleep

Who was the other I ?

Cajoling, decreeing

Perhaps a child with a dagger

Or a painted being in swagger. 

Days come and go

But the sun without a race

Soulful of its luminosity

In a jocund dark space.

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