Musing 45 Poem by shuvo chakraborty

Earth how swift on usual round
Won't return back the tide for quite rendezvous.
Irritating self by nerve shaking in slumber deep
Knows not to leap the dead end having a glimpse feast
stealing just a faithful hour to console the remorse.
Sweet moments turn worn and obscure selves
And looking deserted by all wounded eagerness,
River spirited being caught in trapping sand
Dried mouth and tongue perched in breaking dawn,
Divided self running fresh after compelling itinerary.