The roughness of the brown bark of a tree,
My tongue clones to the touch,
To any, anguish it would be,
Thirsts choke, its tight clutch,
Then my father, to set me free,
Joined me to the enemy, to plea,
That is when He cried out
“man dhanmbu tifli”
I lay on the hands of the appointee,
As he my father rests his case,
....Continue Reading
