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Gautam Vegda Research Scholar, Central University of Gujarat, Gandhinagar, Gujarat

I keep digging The unceasing desert With pickaxe. Without shoes And a cloth On my body,

For I get a drop of love. The sun rains fire On my head and I kept hitting The pickaxe into the sand

of the desert, Futilely. I get fainted with The driest lips. Again, dew drops of The next morning Will stimulate a new hope.

I again with pickaxe

Begin Striking The endless sand of the desert, Futilely.

A Bowlful Venom

I twist my bones while toiling for you I squeeze my veins and ooze blood from glands, My throat gets as dry as dust storm, Swirling thirst makes me dizzy. I now see darkness embracing me, I mumble water, water, water. A dusty, damaged, dented and detrimental bowl is served in disgust.

A man with pigtail pours water from The distance, Can you even imagine its bitterness?

Far more bitter and venomous than Of Shiva would've experienced. Each sip is so corrosive that gets My thirst ablaze. Water douses fire but your holy Water flares up when touches A Dalit.

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