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Pradip Chattopadhyay
Poems
Mar 2015
The Wooden Flute
Play a thief play a cop
Take an arm ride
Skip a rope spin a top
Find a place to hide.
Sail anew river wild
Alone with the moon
Break the mirror be the child
Never grow soon.
Find again little things
Dust the wooden flute
Age cannot clip the wings
Grow in mind a root.
Years roll time wanes
Life is joy and grief
Why give up innocence
The inner childβs belief!
Written by
Pradip Chattopadhyay
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