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All English Sonnets


This arid land is dotted with the graves
Of daughters killed by mothers, ere they knew,
Ah! less than thirteen breaths. Mothers slew,
Their off spring like the snakes. And like knaves.

And spineless, gutless weak impotent slaves,
Their fathers, lame apologies construed,
Cheap justification from their lips issued,
But Rajpoots are still known as fearless braves.

I can’t deny that I am Rajpoot
And fact that I was also here in-born.
And here in lies my source, my psychic root.
My heart is torn asunder with this thorn.

This shameful, vile connection can’t deny,
Like others, do not praise it to the sky.

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