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ode to the robot




the weekdays drag
as do the street-goers to the dead horse
in the middle of the street
on a sultry midsummer day in Delhi,
sweat, puff, die but tread and drag on
maybe a cigarette break might do some good
think of the survival
it is so essential

to the indian standard time
if there is any antagonist,
it has to be the rigourous routine
the chill of the previous season
nor the impending blaze of june
none is good enough to match
but push hard, and harder
here comes the robot

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