We knew we were somebody else
The time we were in a cloth cradle
And its swing brought us from door
Back to a window in wind’s throes.

We were not of mom in fulfillment
Nor of dad dead in sleeping tracks ,
But we had our other self trailing us
Even in the shadow region of room.

There is not much of sun about us
Where we and our other come from.
We would cry hours for a milk pail
To make ourselves sick and crying.

We were actually laughing at other.
We were not a helpless milk baby.
That is the way we pay our tribute
To him who trailed us as a shadow.