By Shounak Sinha Ray
The stars above are burning,
The heavens blaze with fire;
My soul in darkness churning,
And lost in desire.
Black trees below are bending,
As dark clouds slowly rise;
The storm is fast descending
Upon my weary eyes.
The lonely winds are sighing
Their silence on the deep;
The night lamps are slowly dying,
And yet, I cannot sleep.
By Shounak Sinha Ray
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