Death Of A Poet Poem by MOLOY BHATTACHARYA
Death Of A Poet
On a wintry night
That looked deep and dark
The sleepy streets disturbed
With stray dogs that bark
Louder as if an ominous knell
To the inmates snorting in couch
The last breath he draws
Nobody sense but the spooky night
That perturbs no sleep
Only peeps the secret fall.
Amid the books in dusty shelf
A nagging worm makes a daily meal
From the yellow pages
Each word he lovingly penned
His only living soul
Which earned him no fame.
Even not his mourning wife
Who loves him so warm
Aware of his poetic pen
That lies motionless as he is.
Great imagery throughout this poem, fast paced and intense! I especially liked this line: Aware of his poetic pen that lies motionless as he is. Poignant, captures the eeriness of death as described in these lines: The last breath he draws Nobody senses but the spooky night that perturbs no sleep only peeps the secret fall. Awesome poem, Moloy! ! Thank you for sharing it. RoseAnn
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
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4/18/2024 9:07:02 PM # 1.0.0.1119
Heartfelt rendition with strong emotions in passionate reflection set aside for sober reflection. Well conceived and wonderfully penned. Thanks for sharing Moloy.