Subhajit describes a born artist in this verse.
He is a born artist
with inborn thrill to spin…
a new earth, free from bugging,
with ethics bestowed in heaps;
innocence in his bright eyes…
the lowly soil’s optimist.
He is the soil’s beloved,
to make pots of earthen bud
to blossom in future’s lap…
with naked tongues, they steal
the virtues of sunny days,
in pages green and white.
He is the bird of dawn
to awaken the morning gone,
Once in the natural inheritance,
forgotten in blessing of oblivion.
To sing the song of comfort…
a voice not caught by plight.
He is the simplicity of world
whose smile heals all scars,
whose touch clears all dust,
whose words have no webbed fuss.
he is the demon’s fear.
a journey incessant to carry on.
Pix from Net.
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