I am a clod of clumsy clay,
Just a part of your lusty play,
O murderer of this soul,
Why don’t this body you slay?
I lie beneath your feet,
Silently bear your savage beat,
You want to hear my cries,
To forget the pain of your own defeat.
The sight of these bruises makes you proud,
You think, you have wrapped me in a shroud,
But it is not I, it’s you who is dead,
You are a coward in the crowd.
© Jaya Singh