My Days - Poem by Aloke Mukherjee
My days tiptoed down the lonesome path of trail
you left in the hours of dusk, the twang of the
faraway guitar stopped a sudden, the tryst with you
was fixed by the sorrow, you smiled, like an empress.
I painted you, drew a love, an image thrown over the time.
You were there with lonesome days, feverish nights, sat on
lush soil, the night before you were with me in a coffee shop.
I was talking, meditating, dreaming with a poison in my blood.
A curious god came to my house and the bell is ringing
For whom the bell tolls? For whom the bell tolls?
The God is tired, he sang a song, God is dead on his feet.
Still he danced, spinning on his feet with a rhythm foretelling
future of numerous souls- they're seeking a nice niche to lie.
The god is wailing under a greenwood tree, liars who are
shouting in the parliaments did not see this God, a God
forlorn, a God whispering infinite tale, a God bleeding for
little fragile Man but you and me in the coffee shop, on
the lush green, on a paradise lost for ever had the quick
look of a dying God- for whom the bell tolls? For whom?
Comments about My Days by Aloke Mukherjee
Read this poem in other languages
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.