Later Winter Maneuver
Winter passed away with its personal victory and loss. Her business, charm, motionlessness, rigidness, dreaminess, sensitivity couldn't touch me. Spring's youthful breeze could have touched me.
by Gabriel Sumon
They wanted to touch me. I looked back. A red ant's death made me fanciless. The hope of the blissful leaf to grow as a new leaf made me hopeful. I have touched the heart of grassy plants long. Winter is the charm of morning later a yellowish foggy shawl.
I have hidden her name inside (my) heart locket as a feather in the wings of Ghaaschorui to get the smell of Chandromollika in future wintry morning.