Marigold
P Pradip Chattopadhyay
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God willing, she said,
Looking at the dwindling garden flowers
This winter we’ll have blooms of marigold.
Her clayed hands some smudged on her face
They speak of her hard stolen recess
From the grinding chores of running a family
And still when the wind turns cold
Dream for beds of marigold!
God willing
Before her dream’s warmth fades
The garden will be blooming with marigold beds.
Bu şiiri puanla
Henüz puan verilmemiş