He thought in prose everyday.

And in prose he made his way.

 

His head held the heart in check.

The heart had no choice to make.

 

Often it would in a silent mourn -

Stifle a sigh and a silent groan!

 

His head preferred nothing less.

The heart kept trying nevertheless.

 

Then deep inside he heard it's voice.

One day thus he made the choice.

 

And to his heart then he spoke,

But just could never make it talk.

 

So closed his eyes and set it free,

And found his thoughts in poetry!

 

 

Suvendra C Dasgupta