Wanderer

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My skin is not white
Nor it is black
But brown, like
The soil

My skin is not smooth
Nor so polished
But rough, with
Wounds, scratches
And scars
Like the hills, vales
And rocks
On the earth’s
Surface

I do not need gold or
Silver, nor gems or stones
For I wander and wander
Empty handed
Along the endless shore
Where the sun leaves
A silver swatch
Just after he was gone
By the rim of horizon
Like a footprint
Which the waves fail
To carry, to the shore

I milk the blue of the sky
With my arid eyes
And like a drunkard
Keep drifting
Through the loose
Sand grains of time
All by me-self
Staggering

Cell by cell
These grains pluck
Me , the waves take,
Until the heart cells
Drip themselves into
The water

The bridge collapses
But …  the sky
Remains the same

Sarala

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