My Country! Have stars risen in thy skies?
Not farewell to thee, for they are embarked
Ever green, shadowy upon thy wheeze
Who mark every a deed whole to please thee,
Much are untold worries of past days, worked
Our pretty ancestors ceased to be;
Not in thee thyself, not part in ours'
Came to be a pity wear, yet had strive
To seek a goal whose mystery appears.
I'm obliged to forsee, either thou, or
I, who redeem; or who care for to dive
Whilst my broken pen-blots utterly allure
To lease them thoughts; I'm poet mere to say
Nor a doctor, nor a soldier anyway.
COPYRIGHT@ RESERVED BY PIJUSH BISWAS
10/26/2016
[Published in his self-published book "Some Suitable Words", in 2018]
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem