By Mitra Samal
Reminiscence The wind blows bringing in the redolence of my land I bow my head and pay my homage When the Siberian cranes flutter their wings in winter I reminisce the sultry smell of our lakes When I stretch my eyes to the epitaph of the ocean I feel my country’s sands slither away from my fingers When I hear the cuckoo’s enchanting song I float dreamily to our mango gardens with fresh blossoms The sweet aroma of the baked cookies in cafes Reminds me of my mother’s petite kitchen Oh! How it feels to be disparate from one’s native land To be lost in a sea of strangers for what duty demands The lakes, the trees, the sea and my share of sky Something that was to live for and will be always to die If I don’t live to grow old If I don’t live to grow old You will still have my verses to trace back to the days, we smiled despite the summer tempest that showered on our egos You will still find yourself in my words and remember our carefree laughter from another time that set our moods ablaze with zest If I don’t live to grow old You will still have my pages that speak of the time we spent together, the contentment that is timeless, and shall last for now and ever You will still read between my lines and be our dream catcher, feel what I lived to create and saved for you to pursue later If I don’t live to grow old You will still grow old in some corner of my book, in the lines of my page, in the stanzas of my poetry and in the words of my verse
Mitra Samal mostly writes poems and occasionally pens down stories or memoirs. She is a software professional with a passion for both technology and literature. She often participates in poetry open mics. Her works have been published in various online and print media. She is also an avid reader and a Toastmaster who loves to speak her heart out.
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