Getting A Name
A
Anil Kumar Panda
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The bend is not as sharp as my nail
When I alighted from my mind;
The grass is not as smooth as my hair
When I lost my thoughts in bunches;
The tepid flow of unsavoury tales
Rubbed off the relaxation from
Cups of tea in the shack of wood;
Blessed light has shaken off
Its glow to be recognised as dark
When biting lips I come down
To the streets shunned by gentlemen;
To regain the taste of the skin
Snatched away during my
Naming ceremony under the canopy
Of traditions and old adages.
Bu şiiri puanla
Henüz puan verilmemiş