Monday, 12 December 2011


LEFT OVER ALONE STICK 

tender rays of morning, searching 
something on the veranda,
where gone the person 
carrying news paper 
in hands talking
with terrace
garden, 
sitting on the boundary wall, doves 
are curious to know about the
greybeard, giving every 
day pieces of grain,
with affectionate
eyes, calling
them 
with sweetly, they flew from on corner
to other, didn't get a glance of 
life, walking stick is left 
over near the easy 
chair, but those
wrinkled 
hands
are not existed, may be extinct into the
mist of early morning, depressed 
sun light waited for sometimes,
gradually gave up the search,
doves are mourning or 
singing the love 
songs, it's
difficult 
to say but they didn't come back again,
daisies have dried, the shadow of
stick now became longer, 
night has knocked
the door with 
moonlight,

--- SHANTANU SANYAL
http://sanyalsworld.blogspot.com/