Santosh Kumar Biswa - WHITE DOVE

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White DoveAn Anthology of Love, Peace, Fidelity and Humanity by Santosh Kumar BiswaThe Broken BinA gypsy in collocation the broken bin seemedThe bowl, hollow and ineluctably prehensileBrawny in volition, the swelled head to nurseAnd its last intensity, not to fetch atonementAkin the man, quasi to mangle as broken binAppetent in heart to go bladdered and futileThe cosmos, vitiated and barren it becameLike the untidy aged man who defloweredIn the remote, beaucoup various vernal missy.The cruel hand of man like a deceitful whoreAweless to the trash barrel, to hold his mittTo bung, what isn't in favor anymore of use.Poor bin, whilst rugged, assumed in regardIn low intensity to hold, otiose any longerAnd the savagery to maltreat broken wingsMore impuissance to shew due to all sortsOf trash, until its ribs lost the strength to bear.Alas! The pitiful broken bin, split into officesAnd the vice man to stand fully incapacitated.28
White DoveAn Anthology of Love, Peace, Fidelity and Humanity by Santosh Kumar BiswaSanta in my BedroomThe still moon peeped through the heaven's window.An inquisitive breeze ceased with a taped glare.For a prospect, the jaunty snow slackens its motility.Light around, tripped its wondrous toes in the mute room,And I alone, in my bedroom, embraced by my mantle,Dreamless with my rest, for the day to arrive shortly.As if in euphoria, the 'tick-tack' clock kept marching,The Christmas delicately strolled in through the clock.Alas! At twelve the tune 'Jingle Bell' somebody sangWith a sparkling grin on the face, Santa stood close by,In his grasp, with three wondrous gifts, for love to arrive.All gifts, unusual in its sorts, remained before me,Not an ordinary like watches, cloths or sweets.The first, he divulged, I found out the music of peace,The peace that Santa didn't visit in his travel anyplace,That exclaimed me, to read it and share around me.29
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Santosh Kumar Biswa - WHITE DOVE

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