When I Write
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Anil Kumar Panda
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They are so rough and tough-
The lines that trouble me as
Winds of woe at unexpected
Hours; I pick up the pen and
Often drop it several times on
Silent body of the paper lying
Motionless below the fan;
The storm gathers bringing
With it images of colored
Leaves and dancing meadows;
The ink makes moving lines-
If the storm has the tears of
Widows and agony of wars;
Sometimes, the dawn breaks
With the sound of anklets in
The barns caressing the pets;
Sometimes, with the sound of
A flute spilling pain into bodies
Of dew melting on moist sands.
Bu şiiri puanla
Henüz puan verilmemiş