Everyday I write new lines,
everyday I write few lines of love;
but words still remains too short
to define the this eternal word.
It's not enough to scribe meaning of love.
Every time I select a new sense,
but it turns into another intent.
Yes, so hard to destine the word,
my hand still seeks the true meaning of love;
my dictionary is still a kid to define the word.
BIBHAKAR DUTTA's Other Poems
Read this poem in other languages
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
Comments about this poem (Love by BIBHAKAR DUTTA )
- Good For Nothing (Fun Poem 161), David Harris
- I Went, Vera Sidhwa
- Se(lection), Tony Adah
- Octopus, RoseAnn V. Shawiak
- Fill Yourself, RoseAnn V. Shawiak
- Moving Along Avenues, RoseAnn V. Shawiak
- My Gift, Michael McParland
- Between Silence, RoseAnn V. Shawiak
- Transcending Life On Earth, RoseAnn V. Shawiak
- The Hare And His Wife, Tony Adah
Poem of the Day
(March 26, 1874 – January 29, 1963)
(1 February 1902 – 22 May 1967)
(4 April 1928 - 28 May 2014)
(12 July 1904 – 23 September 1973)
Edgar Allan Poe
(19 January 1809 - 7 October 1849)
(16 August 1920 – 9 March 1994)
(10 December 1830 – 15 May 1886)
- Heather Burns
(28 November 1757 – 12 August 1827)