To You, To Neverland

The whisper the wind that left behind

Will take me where?

The tired calmness of end January cold

Bringing out the path that’s hazy now.

Breeze not the loneliness making up environ

Of solitary imposed, convicted loneliness.

It’s now hard to remember her face as I was thinking

But, no, the coffer is open and the wind sailing me

To the neverland–once true now seems to be–

Just some random dreams or memories crumpled.




By Sangbad

A poet, an author, a reviewer--in one word I'm a literaturist (means one who is trying almost everything that Literature is made of). My books are available at Amazon. I'm a Bengali, born and raised in Kolkata, West Bengal.


  1. your poetry never losses its depth or sincerity. I find you floating in this one Saangbad, looking for something to hold on to. Memories play tricks with us don’t they? i love the words memories crumpled, like an afterthought not even fit for the ink it’s written with. very touching words.


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