When I open the window of the southern side
I feel I did not take any foot step from my childhood
The exterior wind blows gentle with motherly touch
Wherever I look there the woods arise
In the dimness of memories departed long
Time is nothing but a battle and defeats me repeatedly
My frustration makes me return to my window
And that very time I solemnly try to make a voyage
In the ripples of rip-roaring tide and times
Tapas Baidya
http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/my-window-3/
