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The Dead Man Walking

Drying skin, decaying flesh.
It got some strangers gawking.
As he passed by; beneath the drunken sky,
They said, “Dead man walking”.

Mother, mother, why do you cry?
Surreptitious, I act, don’t I?
Exhale it all with a dejected sigh.
Do once ask, the master “why?”

The thorns were big, the grass was less.
He waded amid, the bloody mess.
With life he was kidding; reality mocking.
That’s the story of, the dead man walking.

Varun Rajagopalan.

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