You cannot break me more than my flesh allows –
You may think you have when my cheeks get moist;
And think too I bleed, whene’er I bow my head.
You may think you have won, and for it you carouse –
You may have a flag which your audience hoist;
But I’d had you mocked, each time I bowed my head.
Come again when the Maker himself endows –
For with me I have, like a ceiling joist;
Countless prayers and grace so fine, you’d bow your head.
~ Awungrinchon Khangrah ~
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LitWeekend invites short stories, folklores, poems and anecdotes, with objectives of instilling reading culture, promoting literary and aesthetic creativity, besides honing aspiring writers of our region.