The Wasteland

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Under the wasteful heap,
Lay I low,
Wan and grey, desolate and barren,
Know I not ,what I am
Living a life of disgust and sadness.
Oh I am but a piece of land ,a waste land,
Where the spiky grass pricks and the breeze
makes me faint.
A narrow broken path cuts me through,
but for long no has traversed it too.
Each morning I wake and look up to the sky,
praying,
To take me away with the setting sun and
then again comes the dark and cold night.
Forget not that day ,
The lord heard my pray,
Came a handful of lively beings,
dancing and singing,
And trimmed me up, neat and clean.
Then I wish not die but live
amidst the beauteous greens, the
Coloured hats , and the sky on my lap.
The sun shone brighter,
buoyant was the sweet breeze as never.

Joyous were the path,
where the kids trod happily as ever.
The yellow flower blossoms,
spreading its charm,
Wish I live amidst those golden hearts,
for ever and ever.

by: 
Arka Banerjee
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