The World To Me Poem by ATUL CHANDRA SARKAR

The world to me
Is a tender blade of grass,
Whose greenness enamours
And sharpness bruises,
Where smiles sport on lips
And the inner wound
No matter how painful
Slowly, silently oozes;
Whose music is the blend
Of groans from cracked lips
And the laughter of those
Whom fickle fortune chooses;
Where slowly, steadily death
Germinates in the field of life
And everything ultimately ends
In a silly set of loses.

(Lucknow, India Dated 05th November,2015)