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No thorn will prick me there

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When I’m alone with myself,
It pains more.
with a forceps in hand,
I go deep into my mind
and picks up a thorn.
It bleeds, as the thorn is big,
Strong and deep rooted.

‘Let it bleed,’ I tell the wound,
And spread to act as a lotion
To soothe you and me.
Haven’t we both, carried the thorn
In our bosom all these years?

I throw the thorn with the forceps.
Thorn is gone, the bleeding stopped
But the wound gets sceptic
Pain increases, unable to bear
I weep.

Tears falls down, wets my chest
Seeps down inside, reaches the wound
It’s salty moisture, slowly,
Slowly heals the wound.

It pains again, another big thorn,
Again another, all over my mind
Many many thorns.
No forceps, not even big knives,
Axes could pull them all out.

Lord Agni, only you can do it
Burn all the thorns
And clean my mind
As you did with my mother’s womb
Before spreading a bed for me.

Lick and purify my mind and soul
With your long and burning tongues,
And make them fit for my journey.

Let your tongues be the wheels for my chariot
Let your tongues be my flag and fan
Let their glow brighten my path
And lead me to my Master.

No thorn will prick me, there,
No pain will suck me there!

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