I have lived
a decade
without an address
in this city
I have lived
without a paper
to declare my existence
A concrete mesh
housed me
yet scared to contain me
trembles when asked
my whereabouts
and deserts me
When I offered
to be chained
hand to hand
One by one
they'd link
the ridges of my fingertips
All ten of them
My eyes -the iris and pupil
the tears and anger
They will now
give me a number
Armed with this
I am told
I'll get
my bona-fide address
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