Buffalo

We had a big black buffalo We gave food or no we did not It always put on fat on rainy days But in front of it I used to play flute Did it enjoy the tune? Till date I do not know? For him I changed my art Like the development moves from one part To another part of the world And started writing poetry and read them out to him loud But I wonder still if he knew the intricacies of a poem But he used to shake his head Like the horse of Robert Frost In the middle of frozen lakes and dark woods But I knew I did not do any mistakes But poems are falling like downy flakes On the soil of my soul That developed cracks due to severe drought As I have not received a single drop of rain Winter after winter has been passed in coldness Deep yellow becomes the foliage Near the roots of the tree they are accumulated like hills of failure A bustle sound I hear But I wonder if the buffalo knew the craft of my sorrow But blow of the wind And the flow of the stream know So my friend becomes the murmur Though I lived together for long Yet the buffalo could not be a close one Like that of wind's sweep sound. Buffalo We had a big black buffalo We gave food or no we did not It always put on fat on rainy days But in front of it I used to play flute Did it enjoy the tune? Till date I do not know? For him I changed my art Like the development moves from one part To another part of the world And started writing poetry and read them out to him loud But I wonder still if he knew the intricacies of a poem But he used to shake his head Like the horse of Robert Frost In the middle of frozen lakes and dark woods But I knew I did not do any mistakes But poems are falling like downy flakes On the soil of my soul That developed cracks due to severe drought As I have not received a single drop of rain Winter after winter has been passed in coldness Deep yellow becomes the foliage Near the roots of the tree they are accumulated like hills of failure A bustle sound I hear But I wonder if the buffalo knew the craft of my sorrow But blow of the wind And the flow of the stream know So my friend becomes the murmur Though I lived together for long Yet the buffalo could not be a close one Like that of wind's sweep sound.