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The hands burn, yet I clutch,
Steel rods burning them, yet I clutch,
For my child’s stomach cries,
so I clutch.

Glow of molten makes my eyes blind,
reminds me the glow of paddies,
I let tire my eyes,
For my child’s stomach cries
.

Once known pleasure of mud,
 turn coal's ash on the leg, 
 pain the ground gives,
differ when a bug bite me on mud,
I let pain my legs,
For my child’s stomach cries.


The bones crushed, torn the muscles,
time has to now pass,
wonder why it’s slow to pass,
I let the mind to wait  ,
For my child’s stomach cries
.


Lord gave the silvers when the stars shone,
glow rather soothing than the steel,
eyes had tears flowing,
for my child’s toothless smile
.

Engine drove through the track, 
to my beautiful village it goes,
to my wife and child it goes,
the body not tired anymore,
For the joy has taken the pain off.

Stepped to my mud again, 
the early green has now turned, 
pale dark, pale sorrow, 
tears on my wife's cheeks, 
went in to see my thatch
.

Turned for my kids, no cry, 
then turned to my wife, 
pointing she was to a grave, 
a grave so beautiful.



I went near the beautiful heap of mud,
a drop of tear on the mud of bones,
the stomach crying, drank the tear,
the fire put off.

 

Author
Athul Krishnan
Author's Email
suvindas1235@gmail.com
Author's Phone No
9447173758
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