A Poem from the Book:
“Poems of the Living Present” ( a book of 13 poems)
Sometimes one feels
that old age
Gives out a poignant odour,
Killing the sweet smell of youth.
The Earth heard
the smell of my thought
And the Sun looked at me
with dislike,
And the Air murmured
In the young, fresh leaves
of the willow tree:
“Ohhh, ohhh!”
I closed my eyes
And retired to the deepest corner
Of my solemn solitude.
It was there and then
That I began to hear
The sweet smell
of all the Roses of the world
From the decaying body
of a Nightingale.
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