anupam mukhopadhyay (17.2.1979 / ghatal, india)
the tree is getting away from the shelter of the
tree. to get at the laws of the game one
suffer a lot.everything that heavenly- getting
purified. the vermilion fur of a sheep. the volatile
no xerox machine any where. the flesh in which we are
the air causes something to fall off. a star remains
intact in spite of rebounding lights. someone using
every amazement just like a machine is used. just like. ..
a cock gets alarmed - just the same. the intense smell
of the attar makes us understand the container is broken.
sunlight coming through the window. just like a window
made of trees - this called practice.
every one young - in the morning sunlight today.
many times provable that we do not know a tree...
Comments about this poem (Practice by anupam mukhopadhyay )
Top 500 Poems
The Road Not Taken
If You Forget Me
Still I Rise
Edgar Allan Poe
William Ernest Henley
Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening
I Know Why The Caged Bird Sings