Posted by: Ron DuBour | December 8, 2014

Desert~by Purushattom Bhattacharjee


 

 

Desert

Sometimes I think,
I’ll not write any poem again,
What’s the fruit of writing poems?
Whom for? What for? My verses,
Where are those readers’ hearts?
Who once lived in poesy,
Took showers with the words of verses,
But alas! Dwelling in their secluded isles,
They are now just busy living machines,
Breathing but without hearts,
Passing their selfish lives,
Living but without love,
Behind the musk of friendship,
Now as if there is only `Brutus’
Just waiting for a chance,
In the crowd of humans,
Where is the humanity?
Running and running,
An endless hunger of money,
All are now very busy,
Have many riches,
But no time,
Who will read you today? O My poesy,
In the jungles of concrete,
There only now the clashes of robots.
———————
Composed on – 8th December, 2014.


Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s

This site uses Akismet to reduce spam. Learn how your comment data is processed.

Categories

%d bloggers like this: