Metaphor - Poem by Saugata Chakraborty
A few of my lady colleagues
Were asked once to draw
Pictures of objects that define themselves
Most of them drew a tree,
Full in its bloom
If you would have cared to listen
Chirping birds could have been heard-
Some of them copied while others
Had fallen for the glory attached to martyrs.
Yet one created something else on the paper-
A blackened cloud, that could never become rain.
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