truth

An old laywoman
And her earthen pot
Not having an iota of grain
And chulah which has no fire O! God
The paper thick layer
On feeble bone
Having nobody to care
She is all alone
Broken glasses
With rubber band in it
Memories converted into ashes
Tears sliding down her cheeks
Sitting by the door
Knees drawn to her chest
Having no hope in its core
Soul is yearning for the chapel of ‘rest
Shabby hut
With blazing heat inside
Sweat, alms and handful of guts
Except these she has nothing in her hide
Ah! Except these she has nothing …….

2nd may

Rajdeep bhattacharya
This is the naked picture of our abode
We have to fight it, and change it
Rise o dreamer rise from your dream