Petition To The Boss - Poem by Amiya Chakravarty
Sir, the list is ready -—
things you cannot take away
from this exile, your humble clerk.
This ancestral earth, its plain existence,
of which a part is this I, your servant's self.
Cool water from the well, an eye for books
the sudden shower in summer afternoons.
Love of one's kind, the pang of memory
shot through with the hope of going home to Bengal.
Send me away, O World -—
yet linked with the shaed of ancent trees
immemorial joys are stored in my heart -—
the courtyard tulsi altar, the rained rivrside temple, the charm
of the native tongue.
Comments about Petition To The Boss by Amiya Chakravarty
Read this poem in other languages
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
- Still I RiseMaya Angelou
- The Road Not TakenRobert Frost
- If You Forget MePablo Neruda
- DreamsLangston Hughes
- Annabel LeeEdgar Allan Poe
- IfRudyard Kipling
- Stopping By Woods On A Snowy EveningRobert Frost
- Do Not Stand At My Grave And WeepMary Elizabeth Frye
- I Do Not Love You Except Because I Love YouPablo Neruda
- TelevisionRoald Dahl