By Shamik Banerjee
Today went by in lovely grief of past;
grief, I knew not, sat on lamppost with birds,
the busy commuters to bus-stop last
and foreign faces conversant with words.
The tea stall looked the same and the man in grey
smiled, his all-shining common smile and stood;
the stove heated-mild; a scent like everyday;
grief sat with me on benchwood;
then one thought contrasted, stroked and hurled:
strong love’s deduction that old beauty could change
and transmute each to lovely sorrow’s world,
lovely for why old love does ne’er strange;
but make vision see, only dull and dried—
even the sadful headlines:’Drowned and Died’.
Shamik Banerjee is a poet and poetry reviewer from the North-Eastern belt of India. He loves taking long strolls and spending time with his family. His deep affection with Solitude and Poetry provides him happiness.
Hot Pot Magazine 