In tribute to all of us in the world working dead end jobs, staring at computer screens and waiting to grasp/ create that one stairway to employment heaven, i am going to post one of the poems India wrote when she was in a job rut and watching her ideas run by while she sat on the sidelines.
I'm born of the wind and the fires it stokes,
The earth my feet should not feel.
I rage as he burns and weep as she blows,
But still the earth holds on to my feet.
I run and run to shake off my tormentor
But now my parents don't seem to know me.
3 comments:
I liked the poem. When you shake off the tormentor... do let us know
tell india this poem's remembered....and brings back memories...of the first time she narrated it to me....
when was that.. tell us.
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