How Many Colors Are You? Poem by Sourav Roy

Oh Spring! when the wings are made, the dead
Perhaps, have been coloured;
Of course, from my orifice to bone marrow,
There is still thrilling, making their abbey.

None gave, did not get there ruddy oats
So, I got a little red in stinging lips.
There was no peg,
There is no color yet how long color is in the skin.

That's how many memories of the memorial service,
Colorful dreams, feelings of losses,
Get hurt! It never did that;
Failure knows only today.

Oh Spring! how many colors are you, paint colors?
New lifes blossom in your touchs:
Why delay me! Blood flow
So the trunk has gone so far.

This body has got cold, lack of heat
Death has risen and peeping;
So you have divided your lap-sheet, in which there
Isn't my frosty heart.

Your heart is divided into; Someone else may be
Has taken the taste;
My eyes are in dimming, death is in the drunkenness
Life's rolling down.

_ Sourav Roy.