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It’s difficult to be what you were born to be;
more difficult to know what you were born to be;
then live, not reaching there, ever.

Nothing comes for free.
The world takes the fee
of life.

It condemns you at times to live
your death and you know as you live,
you die.

You live your bargains, once, twice,
once more, and then,
some more. 

My sons,
they look at me and see a god.

They think I’ve lived unheard; unseen
and tell me that they were born to fulfill
a part of the destiny that was mine.

I smile to mask my fear. I think of the day
they’ll know their father, the midget,
the coward,

and know his truth and hate him for hiding his truth
so well.

Rajnish Mishra is a poet, writer, translator and blogger born and brought up in Varanasi, India and now in exile from his city. His work originates at the point of intersection between his psyche and his city. He edits PPP Ezine.

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