The balls of fire
In the hands of the innocent insects
Infested with dark desires-
Who never have dreamt,
Nor have flied high
Off their birth place
Since they riveted to their
Winged dreams
In the hour before the dawn
Under a Sun on a chariot
Drawn with the single most horse
Widowed on the day of wedding.
A candle lit at noon.
Nothing perennial is ever created.
Erupting Inside my heart,With triads of erotic notesFading into one,There appearedThe reflectionOf a face,I have been afterFor all these years.As I walked a bit closer,It appeared to beA mere reflectionOf a pale face ofThe fallen angel fromThe western sky,On the mute, white waterOf the pond-Sweetened with theSorrowful childhood,Somewhere near theThe solitary ivory templeWhere pious hymns…
With yoursVis-a-visI learnt to rate myself!I comparedAll my skies,My shapes,Their Centres and circumferences!And I turned at lastInto a mere mapIn the geography bookOf your eyes.
I see themcry for,shout for,crave for,exceptfor their humanity.My head bowsdown,My heart sinksdeep.
ଏଇ ଖାଲି ପୃଷ୍ଠା ର ଗାଲ ରେତୁମ କଲମ ର ଚୁମା ଦିଅ ।ହେଲେ ତମେ ଜମା ଶୁଣିଲନି-ଦୁନିଆ ଠୁ ଗୋପନ ରଖିଲମୋତେ ପଛେ ମନା କରି ଦେଲନୀରବ ରେ କଲବଲ ହେଲ ।।ଥରେ ଯଦି ମୋ ଅଝଟ ଶୁଣିଦେଇଥାନ୍ତ କେଇ ଧାଡି ଲେଖିତମ ପାଶେ ଜନ୍ମ ଜନ୍ମ ଋଣୀହୋଇଥାନ୍ତି ଜାଣ, ପ୍ରିୟ ସଖୀ।।।
