Outlook

Time becomes a tired child In this workshop of tiny life Now the paths greenery and withering Grown-up more but in dwarfs outlook At the old bank of searching Nothing is disclosed by digging the truth Tired and tired the distinction Full hands of years now tired roots On the bud of soil, no one will bloom The fire of eyes in distinguishing puffs Belief, lonely wandering clouds Under the soil seeking the final version of the union Truth! Nothing is true, translucent but transient What I see- interludes of drama 10.08.2020 Chattogram