Musing 43 Poem by shuvo chakraborty

Sitting beneath the unknown tree
In midst of solitude encompassing,
Guarding mine self unconscious forays as if
To be not wayward by memories overwhelmed.
Whistling high wind capturing warmth of spring
Will melt away all the cold browed frosty feelings
Harbouring the dusty misdemeanor of unfair attitude.
Conscience in softest treads let disperses
The clouds pensive in the saddle of mind ruing
About the disappeared moments apt for sincere raining.