Wednesday, August 15, 2007

prerna - 2 - best one so far

For nine years

The mother, on her umbilical chord,

Played a funeral song,

As she died again and again

As she walked around with her pain and hurt

She saw herself in her.

Time and again her little feet would hurt

But her mother would not look at her

There was a spell on her

She had a thorn in her crotch.

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