Once you're used to itfeel anything;
your blood nevermore
congeals
nor flows
for wet mud has been slapped
over all your bone.
Once you're used to it
even the sorrow
that visits you
sometimes, in dreams,
melts away, embarrassed.
Habit isn't used to breaking out
in feelings.
F.M. Shinde, 'Habit', in Arujun Dangle (ed), No Entry for the New Sun: Translations from Modern Marathi Dalit Poetry.
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