He hides those stories of your genes that sing
And makes mountains of men who did massacres
You, a poet, whose words paint unneeded love
What use you are to those who see
With twin eyes of wins and losses?
Geography; She doesn't mean to, but she lies
One day's contours on a map, meant to live
For as long as memory and not a day more
You, a sailor whose maps are drawn from the stars
What use you are to those who use
Quarter books to define boundaries of islands?
Footprints of false histories all through your maps
If you care to know,that lonesome moon was lost
And ever since she came under the spell
Of a spinning globe weaving ancient tales
She stayed on for the wedding feast and learnt
How to marry words with lost maps and live
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