Pain
P
Prabir Gayen
0
Folha de Ouro
_ pain_
In this squally Cockcrow hours of the day,
Nature seems to celebrate with clouds pouring gay.
The wind that rushes with hesitating concern,
defloweringseasonal charms with repeated blows,
died on the bosom of the far away furrow.
In the dark corner of my Sequestered self,
The bloom that blossomed subrosa succumbed.
The mind that once enlivened wish endless,
Upon the awakening of pain pure bequeathed.
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