When to an end they succumb,
When The Collector comes,
Understand it’s like the uncontrolled descent of a parachute
Or the fumbled baton in a relay race.
Remember then that nothing belongs to you in the first place.
Hear the pop
When the string
In your hand, Dear Kite King,
Oh, Gudi Badsha,
Mistakenly think you can subvert The Collector’s Law.
Realize He always sends a fathomless rickshaw
What He bade
In the first place.
Though never far from your mind’s eye,
Feel the gham e judai,
As the beloved appears smaller and smaller
In the sky.
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