If i ever knock on your doors, dear fame,
Make sure you see me through the peephole,
Don’t open your doors.
Speak to me from your window instead.
Of how transient i am
And that it will be someone else tomorrow.
Be sure to egg me on my way,
For if i stop too long,
I may never wake.
But before i leave,
Gift me your sister,
So that i may always carry her upon my shoulders,
And stay rooted to the ground.
Give me humility, dear fame,
If i ever walk your way.
Hide behind the limelight, if you must.
So that i won’t stay.
written in early march 2012.before the hindu decided to bring me to the light, kicking and screaming.
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