The Wounds Poem by ANJANDEV ROY

Wounds, wounds and wounds
Which are disheartening and never healable,
The bleak winter day is consistently dull and uninspiring,
Spring is a dream,
Never comes true,
The devotees assemble in the holy temple,
The holy priest as usual sprinkle the holy water on them
And bless them to be happy and fortunate.
The devotees smile, the priest smiles and even the God smiles indifferently,
All know the truth of time;
Indeed, all think alike.