Debadarshi Panda
A WORLD DIVIDED
A world divided within me,
Far separate of sin and thought,
And sin is the word – not vowed
Far be the hand – that writes!
Declare!
So far I am stirred –
Within rust and toppling scale of limits
to ten, and be it all –
that have wondered this mind,
“Man is not made of man – out of even”.
In those wild false,
pleasant voice, that has not uttered –
only cried foul –
strains of the meek, tears of the sweeper,
whose voice was failing,
within his soul.
Be the death – crept in his last joy,
To better – be the span with zeal,
To be the Human – last I could say,
Futile in days –
Death is immortal.
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