The Old Man
A
Anil Kumar Panda
0
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Each night, he would wake up,
To cough and aching body…
He was dying like a leaf
In summer..scalding in the
Heat of misfortune.
All his fronds are gone..one by one.
And he stood like a pole
To draw awe and sympathy
From passersby who once lived
With his alms.
Now he is alone,
Like a broken bench in a part.
Each season brings with it
A new fear that eats away
His dream to live and flourish.
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