Comments about Ujjwal Ghosh
From morn to eve
Tabors and trumpets around
Me, always sound;
My heart like a pen wears a nib.
But still newsvendor's cry
Strangles my rhythmic mutiny
Threatens my outflow, blushed with shy
Cuts their wings as they want to fly.
Bitter is palaver to me
And crying pall-bearer's cry in a poet's funeral,
My drooping spirits are but perennial,
In mazurka of madness they dances like a bee.
Life is but a ...