Root Poem by Neela Nath Das
Root
Had he lived here? My grandpa?
Mother told a colossal building!
But the faded, wornout door no color.
Was that my father’s own house?
Hello, are you there? Mom knew the name.
Caretaker Hari? Yes.
None came, only the wailing wind shivered
The leaves leaves of the Mango tree, Rubber and.
The roots rolling down from an old Banyan tree
Telling of the saga ancestors'.....
I have got to know their language.
perhaps Earth has been aware of us fully, always all of the history here is there no history out there]? and freedom in that]? I've spoken their languages and only hear of pain and sorrow so let's change today for a brighter tomorrow!
Yes, positive thinking helps us think for better tomorrow.Let's hope for the best.Thank you.Mr.Agape.
very good poem; you are lucky to have a big house where you can explore...
The feeling of a descendant very touchingly expresssed through this poem and it is realistic indeed as we all look for our roots. Thank you!
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
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4/24/2024 7:12:09 AM # 1.0.0.1119
Deeply envisioned and nicely depicted. An intensive poem I like most. Thanks for sharing.