The Bird on The Buoys
Meditatively on the tautness
Of the mounds, circling them
Till they unfailingly awaken
To the whispering touch
And in the middle of an
All Poetry
Meditatively on the tautness
Of the mounds, circling them
Till they unfailingly awaken
To the whispering touch
And in the middle of an
When the artist will sculpt
Her beauty on his canvas,
His brush now his chisel,
Hands, an ardent worshipper’s!
It catches in the prism of its chest,
the frolic of the sunlight
and the smile of the moon.
it sings the song of silence,
and sheds its tears
in the breast of the sea.
When shadows rebel, and pedestals crumble,
When dreams are dead, And deities gone.
You’d say,“ Sorry, brother, I won’t lie-But where’s the time. To bemoan your death? Attending your rites, or putting a wreath?”
Man calls it river, makes it flow like gutter. The sky is polluted, the river matches the sky.
The Kanika Kapurs, the street vendors,
the Markaz and the homeless passengers.
Some travel with me – don’t know how long,
they will stay with me, where will they alight?
I wished my dreams were true
I could see the world go blind
Why O Lord,
You robbed away my sight
What was my fault,
You made me Blind!
Life – A River — By Swapnadeep Bhattacharyya — Reading Time – 2 Min Approx A river meanders its way through unknown lands, Yet with utmost resolve it stands, Its knows no end but continues its journey, And finds in Read more