Not More Than My Flesh Allows

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 ~

Readers can send their queries to the Associate Editor, Ningchihan K Hungyo or mail at


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.

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