The paperback writer...

He writes the whole long day,
As if he was born to write,
All that came to him,
The flowers, the trees, the broken heart, the flimsy shadows on the wall...

He writes,
Like the determined clerk on his desk,
Piles of paper strewn across  his bed,
On the floor, on his body, on his mind...
Papers all around,
White, pink, yellow, black...
Papers of different shades and shapes...

He writes,
About memories real-
Of child and women,
Of men and villians,
And the unreal-
Of forbidden treasures
Of Divine temptations...

He writes,
Like a man dispossessed of earthly warmth,
A pen on his hand,
And a mind on flight...

He writes...
The death wish once,
The love story next...

He writes,
Like a man blinded by sombre darkness;
He writes,
Like a man who has just seen the sunrise...










Comments

  1. eta bhishon bhalo laglo,sotti.kirokom jeno rabindranath er gandho,orhan pamuker gandho.shesher dik ta mone holo poet ki tired,aar thik tokhhuni aakta pub akash ranga kora notun diner surja,very good,my friend.

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