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They lift me to their eyes,
then confine me to a niche
Or frame me in a locket, or
rinse me for a potion
A satchel of silk and brocade,
And soaked in perfume becomes
my cell
And as if by parrots and mynas
trained to talk,
My words are intoned in mere
recitation.
When disputes arise and a
solemn oath is sworn,
They need me, so they take me
out.
There's no assembly without my
recitation.
But hearts remain cold and
eyes stay dry
Lies outstrip truth, and evil
beats good,
And for each smile I yield
uncounted tears.
They claim faith in me while
obeying alien codes
So to harass, and revile me
too.
Though all festive gatherings
are open to me,
I am there only as the sole
victim.
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