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MY FATHER BY WRIBHU CHATTOPADHYAY

FOR MY FATHER WRIBHU CHATTOPADHYAY

My father
used to saunter every evening,
with his droopy body, and twilight hue.
His trace is untraced still, and
his pedal touch………
The leafy garden is shingled now,
his pedal touch gets fade,
I need it , but I have mislead the
brown touch in brown shingles.
Sougata written by

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