Kaberi Mukherjee | Tuesday, 11 November 2025 | Print
Not just a poet she is,
But the poem herself.
Weaving the shades of life,
An essence of a woman.
She is Gaea, tender yet unyeilding,
She is the sky, immeasurable, fathomless.
Her laughter is the monsoon fountain
Cascading down the hills
Her hazel eyes bright as the evening star
Weaving a million dreams.
Not just a poet she is
But the poem herself.
Her pen’s a coniferous tree,
Evergreen, rejuvenated.
Her words are season of spring
Vibrant and vivacious.
Age’s whispered in her ears
It’s unwilling to embrace her youthful zeal,
and it will be late.
Not just a poet she is,
But the poem herself.
Posted 3:56 pm | Tuesday, 11 November 2025
globalpoetandpoetry.com | Faruk Ahmed Roni
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