By Somenath Mukhopadhyay
One, two, three and four ...
I count them more and more.
Leaves are falling by;
Earth adds, tree goes bare nigh.
Then a storm multiplies, the tree divides them all
And rounds up thus the season of fall.
One, two, three and four ...
I count them more and more.
New faces are coming by;
Old friends depart with a sigh.
Years add, subtract the memory all
Until the death does befall.
Then a lone bud wakes up from the winter lulls
And a youth pens down a new annals.