The Justice of Bread

Stomach curls
Earn my feed
Not through any words
But by
A simple silence, which
Devours my appetite

A blank look
Says
What not to say
And
All riches
Recedes the more
Farther away

Always
In night
The Sun rises
From the bed
That the bread
Will do justice
In first wake

But, alas!
Only empty plate
And bead of tears
Was garlanding
The presence
Whose richness
Was more yogic
Than what
Any humans
Can transcend

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