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May 2013
Her hairs bereft of oil
Unkempt with dirt
The girl of the soil
I can’t reach her heart.
I can’t reach her heart
The girl wears no rouge
Like arrow she darts
She can’t be my muse.
Her teeth aren’t pearls
She hasn’t a smooth skin
On her no beauty curls
Her heart I can’t win.
Whole day she toils
She wears no cute dress
The girl of the soil
I can’t kiss her face.
She isn’t to any school
The girl knows no tune
Her heart I can’t rule
From me she’s immune.
Her words pour out pure
In her way she is smart
But she makes it sure
I can never reach her heart.
Pradip Chattopadhyay
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