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Yet, it returned
My old house stood
by a march
surrounded by bushes and rushes.
Thrown over it
garbage and faeces
sometimes,death rodents.
Disgustful it's dwellers often came up
on the portico of my house,
Intruded inside.
Yet pitiable every time
from it heard
the distress call of a frog
grabbed by a snake.
I filled the marsh with earth
cut down the bushes,
built a new house
in place of the old one.
But true to what old folks told
after a long time
it returned to me
myself felt it's dwellers.
Then, I preferred darkness,
I not be seen
and silence
listening their clatter,
wishing the bushes
myself to hide.
Copyright ©
Akham Nilabirdhwaja Singh
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