Life is a set of
Mutilated words
The words of life
That have lost order
Needs a symphony
Of solace on flute
To weld them up
In the fire of love
But, here, they are so disfigured
That it is difficult to distinguish
Between vowels and consonants
The words have lost
Their lines and curves
But, lots of dots remain
And the dots grow bigger and bigger
And metamorphose into
Huge circles and deep gorges
Now everything is confined
In a ‘O’ circle
But, ‘O’ was not the first letter born
The letters that did not melt in fire
Have corroded in the soil
By Ismail Meladi
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