There, the songbird sings it's sweet lullaby;
squat upon the forlorn ridge of this dusky glen.
May not the song fades from this place.
May not it goes to any mobbed beach.
May it drifts along the mapple bush like
a ripple through the fragnant breeze deep down;
where the deaf air of wood 'n saw chores are
so mistful, so sweet.
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- Debmalya Sinha - দেবমাল্য সিংহ
- Hurriedly striding past the crowd, you've stumbled in front of a table at a lazy afternoon coffeeshop.
You've pulled your bag and stuff from the floor and glared on the figure sitting there alone, and quiet.
Swearing under your breath, you ran back to the bus stop.
Later, at night, The coffeeshop comes to your mind; and the figure
with lots of open papers and a camera on the table, a guitar laying beside.
Still thinking, seemed like his thought, river deep, unending.
Yes, that's me.
1 comment:
bah..bes bhalo to..iss...eddin dekhbo kore dekha haini....chalie ja lekha lekhalikhi....
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