Amid the rustles of leaves,
he strains his ears
to hear the footsteps
gone before him.
Through the web of mist
that rises from under his feet,
his eyes probe intensely
for the trail of the traveller
he walked with yesterday.
The jungle stiffly silent
hides the secret deep within
veiling it in dark shrubs.
The man feels a smoke
rise in his eyes,
‘where is the traveller,
who just the day before,
walked with me? ’
more like wailings
rend the unresponding wind.
Before him as far as the eyes go
stretches the unending path.
He begins the search once again
the next traveller is on his trail.
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Comments about this poem (The Traveller by Pradip Chattopadhyay )
(March 26, 1874 – January 29, 1963)
(4 April 1928 - 28 May 2014)
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