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7/26/2025, 3:18:59 AM
> If I should poo, think only this of me: That there’s some corner of a foreign parking lot
> That is for ever India. There shall be In that cracked pavement a fouler mud concealed;
> A mud whom India bore, shaped into a blob, Gave, once, her trash-filled streets to roam;
> A body of India’s, breathing Indian smog, Slimed by the rivers, cursed by thoughts of home.
> That is for ever India. There shall be In that cracked pavement a fouler mud concealed;
> A mud whom India bore, shaped into a blob, Gave, once, her trash-filled streets to roam;
> A body of India’s, breathing Indian smog, Slimed by the rivers, cursed by thoughts of home.
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