So much to tell, yet not a soul
Has ears for my mind
For with time the cast for this role
Changes, falls, stays behind
On impulse, I revisit, unwittingly undressed
Enforced by habit crossing the will
Time imposed, propriety pressed
Familiar hunters as their salted kill
Like rain drops in a shallow pond
My tale begets multiple unsettlings
In the unworthy listeners of long fond
An unwholesome parley with negative partakings
Never again my friend I warn
Myself against habits' cyclic occurrence
Against defying time leaving myself torn
Lip not a feeling without ponderance
Like the weather fine tuning your garb
Well picked words warm many a heart
Yet let not warming your aim warp
Nor dear feelings colour any art
As a camels' body to the desert sand
Adapt your art in the hue locale
To honour the present in guise of the land
Persistent industry serving action or vocal
Dadhichi
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