Dusmanta Choudhury
Springs Are Dry
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Springs are dry
With abundance of rain
How can man find raptures
With much grating in vain
Orchards are dry
And birds don't sing
Is it the forest fire?
Smoke lines are curling
No drum is beaten
Or no pipes are played
Perhaps the joyance
On the face of bride did fade
Interfused the human hope
Along with the thought
Here is a big cataract
But emotionally pebbles fought
Perceives the time
With much fretful hope
Not spoken to human heart
But ringing with a rope
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