Evening

A poem about an empty thing that even the waste-gatherers cannot put to use. Search through it yourself. Perhaps you’ll find value.

Day abandons it
Night disowns it

a poet picks it up
threads it
into a poem;
but sometimes
it is barren,
so impotent
it gives nothing,
not even to the poet.

– Gulzar (Sampooran Singh Kalra)

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