Solitude in the closed room,
Squeezes the darkness to exude,
The crushed and faint smell of the years,
Of picking mango fruits,
Speeding with the wind,
Sliding down into the water,
Splashing into the puddles,
Of nightly fear of hoary ghosts,
And curling in chill against mother’s body,
All swirling up in the deserted night,
From under the stack of forgotten years.
Wonderful poem, very nice expression.
Wonderful lines, nice expression.
Very nice ….