The scent lingers – monggo
Is it Tuesday, I thought
To myself, my weary self,
Distraught self, downtrodden self
Self-pity, self-abnegated
Abnegation? I apologise
For the extravagance—
That is you, the stem
Of humongous bougainvillea
Without the city walls,
But which one?
That is you: a pearl hidden
Well inside a giant clam
As big as the car wherein
Clowns with their apprentices
Force themselves in for an audience.
I look down, I cannot even see it.
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