FOUR CORNERS

Four corners I have

In one are buried my ancestors.

 

In the next

There sleeps a cooking pot.

 

Over the third

thatched roof has a hole through

that rain and sun peep,

There is also a plastic flower,

brought from fair

ages ago, now

Sullied with soot.

 

And in the  darkest

There is a cot, lousy

Worm-infested,

And when when we sit

It creaks.

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Abu Siddik

Abu Siddik

It's all about the unsung , nameless men and women around us. I try to portray them through my tales. I praise their undying suffering and immaculate beauty. And their resilience to life's vicissitudes, oddities, and crudities I admire. They are my soulmates who inspire me to look beyond the visible, the known, the common facade of the educated and the intellectuals.

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Subhash Chandra
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"A gifted writer"

A gifted versetile writer who writes excellent stories and poems on the invisibles, pariahs, margins, aged, weaklings of our society. A rising star on the literary firmament.
Santosh Bakaya
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Praise for my writing

“Your story Undersell left me with a lump in my throat, so did your poem, He also lights candles.”
Louis Kasatkin
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Praise for my poem "Elderly Men Two"

"A finely honed observational piece recording the minutiae of everyday life. Rendered with the author’s customary poetic aplomb suffused with a Borges like quality of the mythic."

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