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an immigrants lament
gazing at the sky
i often wonder why,
birds soaring,
high in the open sky,
are free to fly ?
is it that they have wings,
for i too have wings, friend,
so,
i often wonder why,
huddled against desolate sleet,
and,
i often wonder why,
buried under flimsy newspapersheet,
that i too have wings, friend,
i too have wings!
it is just that
my little wings,
are my tired
little feet …
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