Namrata Das Adhikary
Stop And Stare
I was eight, a man bereft of life
Cradled in his shroud, preparing for a flight;
Into the world where no one would cry,
From mortal to eternal, bidding a goodbye-
To the folks around.
They just look, peep into his shallow eyes,
Little did I realize;
I was among the folks who'd just sympathize,
Sympathize for the ones' dear lost treasure;
How much that hurts, I couldn't measure.
Days pass by, ten years from then
I'm eighteen, memories beget
Happy and sad, but never of the men,
Who had left us;
Since the thought never devise any ...