BS ( / Balasore, Orissa, India)


The sage urged to march forward
Like the flying bird,
Which leaves no trace behind,
Along the path it travels.
It’s difficult to believe the soul leaving the body
In the manner one changes his shirt.

In each moment of departure
My heart becomes heavy,
To get up I feel uneasy,
I try in vain to hold back the time,
When I know I shall not be back,
Won’t be able to meet when I want;
The moment of togetherness just pass by
Like the fast trains in my memory.

I look back as I move,
Think of the gossips over the teacups,
Endless and meaningless banters and debates;
I feel stuck to the buildings and roads,
The people, trees, manners and festivities;
The steps falter and feet slip.

I mightn’t leave any trace behind,
But the imprints of paths shall remain in my mind,
They are my earnings, my assets
Shall continue to guide wherever I go!

I interpolate to find meanings
To know the happiest moments in life;
It’ll be at the time of death I feel
When all the events in memory play recoil!

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