By Shamik Banerjee

February 26, 2023

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If only it was known to us—

pang of your cold-congested chest;

no remorse would be swarming thus,

about the mat where you did rest.

We thought 'twas the common course

of the cold month's unreverting blow;

but that your cry was turning hoarse;

alas! of it we could not know.

When floundered you towards the lawn,

we thought- for sprawling neath the Sun;

but did not know until next dawn,

your scrawny paws would never return.

And that the daybreak would forepay-

the seat of a penitent's scar;

when founded we that calmly lay,

your tumid corpse beneath our car.

Shamik Banerjee

Shamik Banerjee is a poet and poetry reviewer from the North-Eastern belt of India. He loves taking long strolls and spending time with his family. His deep affection with Solitude and Poetry provides him happiness.