Ill-Fated
How can I tell you?
How can I impress you?
My worthless feelings tremble to expose it in front of you.
Though I am so much rueful, but tell me-How can I rue?
Now, It is not that face which once used to share glisten of love with you.
There is no certainty, but by God! I've been able to touch the eternity.
I know, it's difficult to get the warm dignity (though being silent lover) .
So, it hurts me and I have to take deep breath.
Now, I am holding a pen to recall my past and the prosody to be entitled.
I will not say it again.
I will not make an iteration.
Everyone is decent.
Everyone is an intemperate.
Though I am going to be an ill-fated,
But a lot of intellects I have to collect.
I want to be a moderate.
poem by Bibhakar Dutta
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