I, Days Poem by Pragjyotish Bhuyan Gogoi
I, Days
A day comes and the day goes,
Like the truest friend and the finest lover;
And amidst, within the theorems, I hide,
And beneath the numbers, hides Blake.
Ordained, me thus a happy priest, my mind,
To see like a god and feel like a man;
For when the rain's falling,
Its dynamics precise, owns the day,
And its hands holds the night.
Saturday, April 7, 2012
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4/26/2024 10:22:51 AM # 1.0.0.1119
