রোদনভরা.. এ.. বসন্ত..
Never.. have I seen.. such pathos,
In the blushed spring,
My longing.. assumes form..
Like the crimson Kingshook,
Mallika, in seasonable flush..
Embellished.. with leaves,
night.. and.. day, she pines,
anticipating.. her.. love..
A melancholy hum.. of longing,
In the distant horizon..
Melodies.. waft in the southern breeze,
As dormant buds.. in my garden..
Restive, strive to unfurl..
Time.. and.. again..
I knock at the gates.. of my heart..
Despondence.. ringing in tears,
Having failed.. at giving myself up in love..
No comments:
Post a Comment