Sometimes the poet has
to burn in the fire of separation.
Mintu Sareng.
That day in the winter
afternoon poetry reading session
among all assembled,
How bored were you?
What was there to say?
The book of poetry
matches
look at me
Read the poem
Among all the poets
present,
your poem
Crowded in 'my
comfort'
If you match
On the wings of a
butterfly, in a humble love.
I look into your eyes
again and again,
what is he
Kabir with poetry,
Or a lover of love.
The poets chat that
day,
You had a moon face
Floating like a poem.
flowing blue water,
Apart from you,
Anindita Sen was in the chat.
On a bright moonlit
night, there was life in the chat.
Belly flowers are
attached to your vinod khoppa.
My head was swaying in
amazement.
Sitting next to you
mixed with the smell of your light skin,
In a sudden burst of
my blunted senses,
Do you wake up any
wave of feeling in the soul.
Since then, I haven't
come to hang out for a long time.
In poets' chat,
Poet, you didn't go
either.
What a shame, I
learned, much later.
Is love like this in
poets chat?
Do not misunderstand
poetry dear,
Poetry and love in the
conversation of poets, sometimes together?
I like the poet
sometimes
The fire of separation has to burn.