SB (23-12-1965 / KOLKATA)

January

Again I reply to the triple winds
running chromatic fifths of derision
outside my window:
Play louder.
You will not succeed. I am
bound more to my sentences
the more you batter at me
to follow you.
And the wind,
as before, fingers perfectly
its derisive music.

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Comments (1)

This poet makes it to be a monk SHE CAME! Aainst the war against the tear against the fear