My Sorrow’s Root


I sought the answer of my sorrow,
And without a doubt, it clearly came:
Leaving me to talk to myself,
Making me a lonely being.


Mirth of awaiting songs and poems;
The majestic hue on a rose’s cheek,
Easily and quietly pass away to show:
The spells of impermanent pleasures.
I realize that every pleasure swings past,
A fleeting dream.


The knowledge of this,
Is the cause of my sorrow –
Leaving me to talk to myself:
Making me a lonely being.





Geeta Chhabra

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