An Evening In A Tribal Village - Poem by Manu Dash
The sky has changed
into a Muslim woman's burkha.
The chimney of a nearby factory
to sigh in relief since a month.
This is season of loadshedding.
This knife of Dungdunga cuts
cake thickly dark,
‘Chaiti Parav' ends with ‘Landa'
The droning bee returns to the hive
like a horny saint
and the dance
of the dames remind me of Tagore.
April is never cruel here,
moon is no traitor and the rains
have an intimate legacy
to the inhabitants. The souls
Search one more dream.
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Still I Rise
The Road Not Taken
If You Forget Me
Edgar Allan Poe
Stopping By Woods On A Snowy Evening
I Do Not Love You Except Because I Love You