i stole the whole sun
to implant in your heart.
all holidays turn busy days;
your slender ﬁgure squeezes e
through a ﬁlled-up pitcher inside.
i hold the splashes in my palm-cup
and drink all the drops to the lees.
the 'wattled-cabin‘ reached the moon;
instead of walking down the bridge
i swim in the current of the river;
a hard struggle with all sinews
reach me across on the other bank.
the burglar is now caught red hand;
‘hanged to death‘ might cease the kleptomania
Comments about this poem (Apt—Award! by PARTHA SARATHI PAUL )
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