Final Tryst
P Pradip Chattopadhyay
0
Altın Yaprak
The wrinkled hands
Bear not the slightest hint
They ever grabbed the golden orb.
Age mockingly hides
This body ever rose with the tides.
Now before the eyes
A swirling mist
Waits for the final tryst!
Bu şiiri puanla
Henüz puan verilmemiş