I speak with undivided dreams.
Sometimes stuck in sadness!
.
.
Washing the soil and coming out from the heart
Grief like pebbles! Which is my very own
.
.
My lips are always very busy
Looking for my heavenly octave of happiness.
.
.
My survival in a frenzy;
The division of loans and deposits presents a puzzle.
.
.
From time to time I lose;
Sometimes I win.
.
.
Leaving behind on my move
Some feathers ,Be a memory somewhere!
.
.
My ethereal memories will bubble up;
At one time they were buried in the ground unconditionally.
.
- A poem by Sarmistha Dey