Sunday Poetry By Porichita
Secret Friend
And he was my secret diary,
His chat box, my pages a few
The keyboard, oh my inkless pen
To note my daily boring schedule.
Oh! But those pages are all burnt out
Deleted are those texts now
Erased is my untold story,
Yet it’s immortality lies in my memory.
My diary is still the same
Waiting to be refilled again
And yet to repeatedly get erased
Shall mine diary be waiting always.
ফেসবুক দিয়ে আপনার মন্তব্য করুন
