Filed under: Others' poetry
We came close only to move away.
Our fingers stopped to tear with only the last petal,
Clinging, limp, to the stalk .Dark red, forlorn.
Though the conclusion was known , we didn’t conclude.
I see you at the stand, my window stopping in
front of you.
The light goes red, perfect timing?
Still, our eyes don’t meet.
For once, I didn’t chant that silent prayer
which always made you catch my eye.
Do you call this getting along with life?
Poet: Abhijit Chakraborty
Dated: 8th June, 2006, Kolkata
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