The Barren Land. - Poem by Sudipta Bhattacharyya
Confined to the four walls
Is my little friend's morning.
His midday, his pastime
His teachers' notebooks devour;
And the idiot box is his afternoon's playmates!
The Moon calls him no more;
The green grass, the golden dust don't greet him now.
The Moon fades her glory!
The green grass has lost its colour!
The dust is converted into ammunition!
Who calls the child?
Who beckons him to set the dust on fire?
Comments about The Barren Land. by Sudipta Bhattacharyya
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