Earth’s Exile Poem by Suman Kumar Das

Clasping the fingers of time
May this earth
Amble down to somewhere…..

There would be
No tributary of tears
Nor shadow of sorrows.
Night of hunger, thirst
And pain would be over.

The sun would appear in east
On the cart of seven horses,
Bless new lives in old bodies.
In north the holy Ganga
Would purl down the Himalaya,
Wash all blood stains off soil.

Linnet would sing
Swinging in lap of spring.
All palaces of imposter
And tyrant would be burnt.
Tailor bird would build
Nests in village and city.

The moon would play
Hide and seek among
The twinkling stars in the sky.
All would fall asleep
Listening lullaby of slumber aunt.

Clasping the fingers of time
May this earth
leave for unknown exile.