By- Parthajit Borah
If I would know what
I may swing in the cosy womb of Phalguna.
Every careful sights often trouble
To find me at a long distance.
If I would know what the spring
says on my ears.
I may sleep at the new leaves
To whisper the lost song of my blue tongue.
If I would know what Nymph
smells at my salty bosom.
May be the insipid juice of late winter.
Echoes of grief nest a black cabin
To sing the song of late night ethos.