UNTITLED LIFE

He tried to compose a poem
Of the moment of blossoming flowers.
But thorns remained in the paper.
Before sleep at night,
Longed for an apple.
But, outside, in the street
Sprang the cry of orphans
With expectation he received
A mail from postman
But, It was the intimation
Of withheld result of examination.
But in the poem composed
Remains the market rate
Of green grocery.
Tried to cry,
But, Not a single tear came out.
_For it was the time of famine of salt.