Final Tryst Poem by Pradip Chattopadhyay

Final Tryst



The wrinkled hands
Bear not the slightest hint
They ever grabbed the golden orb.
Age mockingly hides
This body ever rose with the tides.
Now before the eyes
A swirling mist
Waits for the final tryst!

COMMENTS OF THE POEM
READ THIS POEM IN OTHER LANGUAGES
Close
Error Success