Journal of South Asian Literature. v 11, V. 11 ( 1976) p. 47.

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No longer young but foolish still

He wakes to hear his words unspoken, A sadness is his toughened will,

And all except his faith unbrokeUo

He plans the day with shallow breath,

He walks the hard, accustomed way And hopes to find, beyond his death,

A time to change himself by play.

Against the grain he keeps at it

And checks his progress week by week, Today he sharpens voice and wit,

Tomorrow turns the other cheekc

Beneath his daily strategy,

Reflected in his suffering face, I see his dim identity,

A small, deserted, holy placeo

*From The Third (Bombay: The Strand Book Shop, 1959)c Reprinted by permission of the author and the publishers.

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