Mountain Flower

Not These -
City lights or country mornings
Friends or enemies- so well organised
No,  these cannot be the truth
That I want.

Truth was like the mist fallen
On a distant mountain flower
Truth was like the delicate poem I am yet to write
Truth was that distant glory
Your bare desolate hand
Resting on the balcony.

But truth it seems-always  evades
A human story
The essence of the mountain flower
Evanescent and so solitary.




(Your bare desolate hand
Resting on the balcony....Jibanananda Das's Nogno Nirjan Hat)