Ranaditya Adhikary Poet Free verse

The Poet's Hand

There laid the young poet, the famed lover,
   Staring at the gloomy hands of the clock,
 As if counting his own steps to the gates of     
                                 death,
   The doctor sat beside him, head lowered,
  Like an executioner hides from his victims,
     The poet held a copy of his own poem,  "An ode to love", he read with a slight smirk,
  It read like a parody of his life, which it may     
                              have been,
As the daylight seemed dimmer by the hour,
 He let out his hand to someone, who wasn't    
                                  there,
      And it waited till it got cold and slack,
  For no one came to hold the young poet's 
                                  hand.

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