Sitting on the window of the lane
The boy does not be seen any more
So when with him
Was last seen.
He was suffering from a difficult illness
No one did not know
He left the world in silence
Filled with the cry of the tears.
He was quite in touch with the conversation
It was with everyone
No matter whether pedestrians, peddlers are going
Whoever have passed the path.
I remember the boy very much, when I pass through this way
Hope one day, the boy will again appear by holding the window.
(Note: From a childhood memory)
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Author:
Hakikur Rahman (
Offline) - Published: May 29th, 2022 23:00
- Category: Unclassified
- Views: 8
- Users favorite of this poem: L. B. Mek
Offline)
Comments1
(forgive me dear Poet
I couldn't help but continue-on
from my reply to your last poem
and incorporate, the choice words
you shared today..
I so admire the tone and feel of this poem, what a beautiful read
thank you!)
'a whole lifetime can be spent
lost, to that cocoon
of a windowsill frame;
windows open, in fingertip
touch
with nature and the world;
as raindrops
drip, form outreaching fingers
and yet
everything else, remains dry
and untouched
by that everyday cruelty
we've labelled, society..
many a child, survives
by the nurturing virtue
of windows, alone...
so, so many
even those dreaming children
with grey hairs
as their life's, survival rewards!
A nice imagery and perfect continuation! Many thanks.
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