Lost Poem by Puskar Sikdar

When the newborn took its first steps,
The home lit up with endless delight.
But amidst the city's crowded streets,
One call rang—and father vanished that night.

The child wavered, unsure, unsteady,
Hiding away to escape the school bell.
No true joy did life bestow,
Lost in time—morning and dusk as well.

Lost and weary, drowning deep,
Life and death—what choice remains?
In a world of selfish, faceless crowds,
It withers, a leaf in autumn's chains.

Gazing blankly at the sky,
Seeking the clouds to shed a tear.
Only the moon, a distant glow,
Offers hope to quell its fear.

What is the worth of endless crowds?
A march of faces, battles unknown.
A weary heart, a mind so frail,
Lost in echoes of a world overgrown.

A heart that burns in vengeance bright,
Struggles within the war of fate.
Yet now it seeks the dream it lost,
Leaving behind the past so desolate.