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Sankhajit Bhattacharjee Poem 147

Scientific Research Fellow in University of Wisconsin, Milwaukee


My life is lost in midst of December-January-

in midst of barren trees, frozen fields, dim light...

The century’s darkest cloud has engulfed the moon’s romantic smile-

alone I stay without the warmth of love.

The rose, the nightingale and the rainbow

are hibernating inside a dark cave-

their breaths are as cold as dry ice,

their pulse rates are as slow as turtles,

their life and living are as silent as isolated islands.