Time Poem by Antimoni Dutta
Time
Day grows and withers away
In the moonlit hands
evening's fragrance walks on the hazy canvas
Don't know how to rewrite those paragraphs
without prognostication hasten to the end.
Lonsome hours unknowingly wet in desultory days
Alone in the port, blurry faces stand, climbs down from the abyss of careful memory...
A chair in a corner of the verandah
Hollow sight exposes a bare history
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
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4/26/2024 2:22:58 AM # 1.0.0.1119
