Groove
P Pradip Chattopadhyay
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Beckons him the freedom’s verge
Atop's blue ring
Lures him the wings’ urge
To think nothing,
Lies his feet
On window ledge
He sees the writ,
His heartbeat
Says this bondage
Is bitter sweet!
He could make the world his home
The span endless
He could wherever freely roam
Stay every place,
Yet his feet on window ledge
Shun the move
Ponders mind on freedom’s edge
The lovely groove!
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