Paddyfield
P Pradip Chattopadhyay
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To where the red soil road loses itself to the sky
she walks in dusted heels
One after other rising and falling the harvests die
can't wilt her wills.
To where the red soil road loses itself to the sky
she plucks corn in the forlorn noon
Sickle in hand her wishes fly
her dreams won't die soon.
To where the red soil road loses itself to the sky
she rues not her fate
She pauses to look up to the heaven high
hopeful in her emerald wait!
Bu şiiri puanla
Henüz puan verilmemiş