I'M Lost, Yet Poem by Neela Nath Das

Like the winter mist I'm
spread over the vegetation
of my long passed childhood days.
The cloud now doesn't cover
the sky of my lonesome hours!
I even can't think of the hilly-rain.
So no sudden-made river takes
birth after the shower of summer.
The water is not knee-deep.
On one side there's the sky-kissing
dense procession of tall trees,
holding their heads proudly.
The other side asks to jump
to end the story of the white-sheet.
The trees where I linger ever
urge to sing the song of the sun,
of love for life.

If the river doesn't come,
if the ditch calls me to dive
onto its rocky chest,
if I'm robbed off the magic
of all colors,
I'll remain as the mist
over the trees, grass, and
creepers of my sunlit bygone days!