Pain and pain...
Blame and blame...
You never want to be a fain?
you capture my veins
blocking the sense
but do stay in core...
then- why always you blame?
don't make it vain,
So much pains
I've gathered in my heart;
oh..what kind of strain! !
pulling my veins,
You does exist-
I can't retreat,
and, of course, bear our fame.
Oh what a virulent pain! !
You made me cry,
yes, I do try,
I do shed to refresh
my heart with that absolute experience.
Just pain and pain....
I need, I need
do exist with that strain,
but don't blame.
Is It a game? ?
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Comments about this poem (Pain by BIBHAKAR DUTTA )
(4 April 1928 - 28 May 2014)
(12 July 1904 – 23 September 1973)
(March 26, 1874 – January 29, 1963)
(10 December 1830 – 15 May 1886)
(1 February 1902 – 22 May 1967)
(28 November 1757 – 12 August 1827)
William Butler Yeats
(13 June 1865 – 28 January 1939)
Edgar Allan Poe
(19 January 1809 - 7 October 1849)
(16 August 1920 – 9 March 1994)
(31 May 1819 - 26 March 1892)
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