A Poet And Nights... Poem by PARTHA SARATHI PAUL
A Poet And Nights...
I inhale nocturnal air wide awake.
I meet each of all unknown hours.
I talk to them at my strange work.
I look around and stir the still silence.
I often crave for love swamped hours.
And ruminate bygone warm romance.
A night is a corridor between past and present.
I get myself terribly tottered and newly assembled.
Saturday, June 14, 2014
Topic(s) of this poem: metaphor
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5/6/2024 12:45:01 AM # 1.0.0.1119
