The Words Of The Forgotten Era Poem by Soumen Chattopadhyay

At last, the shadow keeps hand on hand
Smearing the old smell of the soil
He and me is face to face

I see the infirm sun
Holding hands like a sailor, he shows light
Thinking about a lot of hope
I see my own like the ancient picture
Helpless, I, moving around
can't reach to any remorse vision

Stream of some words, calm us down
Then, like the offspring of the migratory birds
Run to another emigration

There also, words of the many forgotten era
The person tells us