Genre Poetry. Page - 68
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It’s a camel ride, and I In a desolate street Of a ravaged city Holding the worn-out leather reins Drive towards that home On whose threshold A sorrowful woman is tethered down With a cord Of my promise A sturdy cord, weaved from heart-strings Bare-headed, for many centuries Teary eyes Eyes with the glint of an ancient star Anxious to imbibe the smell of my ashen robe And to hear the distressed grunts Of my brown camel. The same soggy corner of the chamber Where one night When wooden arrows