Ankur Thakur (13-10-1994 / Samastipur & New Delhi)
Count of days have been lost,
Like vision in a thick sheet of frost,
Memories too have been blurred,
Graying things which once were coloured!
The same body which once was one,
Is far today like night and the sun,
Eyes which once died for a look,
Is now happy like a brook.
But a humble blanket of mine,
Contemporary to our happy time,
Still posesses a pinch of her smell,
Echoing me the tales she once did tell.
How strange this life (and we) get,
Where a breathing body forgets,
But a thing which since birth is dead,
Remembers all that once was said.
Comments about this poem (Blanket by Ankur Thakur )
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