Bitter Nectar
Knock the door of conscience
Open the closed mouth of pen
Write a note on the page of sky
Read the hidden line of book tie
Friends are many, hither to thither
The winter winds are slowly drear
Brighten smile of the sun is too far
Who knows that the moon is not fair
Ideality is spayed tips in golden gen
Fear is a trend of elated ignorance
Scythe of time spends the lofty sigh
Wicked try to absorb with money pie
Money is not conscience but a trapper
Allow all scent but don’t with high gear
©Mahtab Bangalee
Chattogram
20/11/2022
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