Wounded Heart
A Anjandev Roy
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A drop of blood
On the clean soil
Of the earth!
'Whose blood? '
The question pervades everywhere,
Nobody knows the answer,
Silence reigns in the atmosphere,
Long time elapses,
Then a wise shadow appears,
He whispers,
'It's the blood of pious man,
Who has left the clumsy world
With his wounded heart.'
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