River 20 Poem by shuvo chakraborty

Back to the river which we have hardly explored
And seeds of hope planted long years ago in jest
Have had no germination noble on the feeble surface,
Feeder of cold flooding slid the cultivation amok.
Journey undertaken in a body trembled with shadows
Fallen flat before the pit falling thorns insurmountable,
Before the old lady resumed her weaving in gloomy moon abroad
Stirring nothing save the veil in embrace of bosoms heaving,
The bird of night being jocund with sight of looming darkness
Shrilled thrice toward the lady unmindful to our broadening distance.