a poem by Satheesan Rangorath, India - poetry writer, author, poet


Behind veil of time,
beyond, sleeps history.
Every small n’ big things,
lie in the dust of oblivion.
Grave yards of mighty men and matters,
hide in archives of darkness.
Here comes a man,
with a shivering hand,
holding a stalk n’ a lantern,
brushes away lairs of dream,
comes out with a bone of dead.
He writes a story,
under the spilled shades of light.
A historian is born!

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