Boishakhi Mitro

I can die a thosand deaths, every day

For that face.
...

These days I often find,

Profiles with taglines....
...

The earliest memories that i've of her..............

A septugenarian bend over a stove in the kitchen.....
...

I had heard her name whispered,

Among ladies of good 'culture',
...

As the nor'wester blows,

Bringing in more despair than hope,
...

The face disapears, suddenly,

unexpectedly.....
...

You argue, you are adamant,
Sometimes annoyingly stubborn.
And I cant help but mutter to myself,
'the chip of old Bloke, that he is! '
...

We had just joined highschool,
It was a library period i remember.
When i caught a person tearing a page from a book!
The stupid that I am,
...

The deep blue beckoning.....

The crystal water, sky reflecting,
...

At her feet lay the shiny pieces

Shards of glass, a heirloom of the past.
...

Of jarring speeches n soulless voices,

Of barefoot travails n painful cries,
...

While u think of mankind, issues larger than life,

I continue to live in bondage!
...