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Am not a poet
yet sometimes
words come.
Meaningless at times
sans meaning at other.
I wish I were a poet…

I am a rich one
—a unique one.

For my nation has
two premiers
two presidents
two versions of history
two armies
two letters of independence
—of victories.
Two lists of saints
—two colours.
Two similar
but, sovereign cultures of
the corrupt
—the cheats.

Ah! How could I
have ever believed?
—that I was poor with
one people
One Doer?
one nation
one notion?
one laughter
one cry?
one joy
one dance?
one language with colours so very many
—so myriad?
One tragedy
—one pain?
One dawn
—one rain?

Alas! One vain!
One pain one pain!

bbs. 2012 12 04.
Natick, Commonwealth of Massachusetts.