Let it stump me.
The language of a lovelorn heart
Is like an untimely rain...
It comes
It ravages the fields..
The land and the plain...
It never counts the havoc it causes..
I t closes its eyes of responses
It leaves a stamp
On the field and its roses..
In the world of memories
And behind the door it closes
I hail it
I hail it with all its miseries
Let it stump me...
In the depth of its close..
But, let it remind me
your deep dark eyes
And their poetry and prose.
By Satchidananda Mishra.
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