An April night: fresh and clear
Loneliness seemed to be grim.
Above the moon, there's nothing dear
We laid wasting time at brim.
The brokenness of shadows of leaves
Wanting fairness in resonant air
Teemed; and along furrows, sheaves
While resting, did they little care.
As if, sunk half the moon, we saw
Into the skies, half above horizon;
Symmetrical to us Nature's paw-
Or captured us devicely by His moan.
It was vaulted the place we stood
With clouds, scattering by a lair
And thereby waste a night with mood
Undaunted by broken-strings' lyre.





04/25/2016
COPYRIGHT@ RESERVED BY PIJUSH BISWAS