Dust And Smoke
Sitting in piles of papers,
I don't find my dear poem.
Alas! What I did yesterday,
with pen, in poem's name?
I see eagerly, but find
nothing, which can be my
the best poem, I cry in
sorrow and heave a sigh.
And oh! to my surprise
I watch smoke of anger,
of sorrow, and tear are
coming out, I can't share!
The dust of old thought,
smear my imagination...
I tear my poems one by
one in the sky and laugh
in wilderness to vie
with me and my power
which have gone in the air!
I make tight grip to fight
to get to power too rare! !
poem by Nilakshi Das
Added by Poetry Lover
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