a writer’s words – Bombay, September 2001

i am writing (a poem)
about you writing a letter to me,
in between writing things for others
that they need me to write for them
because i am one who is paid for words
that i did not invent or own, even now

i am paid just for writing them
and not for the way i feel for them
because if that was the way it was
anybody could have my job
and then i would have nothing
not even the words nor my writing

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