A Ballad Of The Road In Village - Poem by Pijush Biswas
Day's thirsty men utter they will die in dryness
And moan for night, when all fairness come in disguise
Why do they not lament for water in stress
When only the Lotus live lives to amaze
Beside the road, travelled by those unlucky men?
The sun, with his premises, builds a worthy gem
Which surpasses all earthly human domain,
Unclaimed to the sea although, yet not to the stream;
And the road, taken by them and I never will be short
Until heaven's greasiness our deaths allot.
Then listen, O dear ones, who were aback to me
The road which I travelled is gone supreme
For, all they had, now, all to my bag 'gulfed to be
And the narrow hut, which I started to go, extreme;
Nor I can detach, nor I leave them good-bye
The broken road, the broken vehicles, all they have
All I took to heart's core, and still remain till die
All that I said once, sins and guilts thankfulness lave;
And misery and toil, all, in bunch, once atone
Giving southern flowery basket of fame in none.
All the long road, I have to take days after days
Not in dryness or brokenness is lofty, as if, to sky
To the alligned huts or houses, also, it has a bless
Or we, they and I, are countable to the 'WHY'
Although, it's unflirting aim never lost to us
For the unwrinkle fruit-trees, or their leaves say-
Be still to the goal, and never lost in fuss
As you wish to garden, must have those one day;
And I, being little worthy to the manipulation
Of the road, see through it's daily abortion.
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