The bayonet at my back was not Time’s,
But just a fear of its hostility.
My genes met stony ground
In a hybrid culture.
The age was like a flag
Tattered by cross winds.
I grasped too much,
Clung to what came easy,
Left what might have been hard.
Sometimes I failed.
Not all has been in vain.
I learnt a thing or two;
I have scars, now healed.
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