Sunday, 15 July 2012

Poetry 2012, Featured Writer Amal Bhattacharya

Too Ephemeral, Too Sublime


Our earthen pot with emerald spread, with hue of gold,
Spinning upon the everlasting time, nudging the azure eyes,
Through the coming of day in its strange melancholic mood,
Stretched through my mind, painting red,
Blue pastures and the bitter yellow, the stretch infinite
Bending forth on its fortitude, to touch inside

Sparks on seconds and splashes on minutes,
Gushes on hours, with no trail of the receding day,
Fractions to additions and counts incognito…
The night crosses by, withholding the passion of my mind,
To have a glimpse of the world for just one moment,
And know what made, life and making of life is!

Forgotten lane, birth, death, laughing hour and longing time,
Veins, mortar, meaning, map, roller coaster, rioting run,
Burns, yearns, belief and the oblivion passage,
Dark and diminishing love, annoying hearts and hope,
Which hours I believed and when did I really live,
Which hours I loved thinking of death!

Crowns of colours and gaze of hours, crosses
Many in array of twanging motions, somewhere inside,
Goes on and on and on to come back from where it began,
Like a friend, a stranger, a figure, a winner, a loser…
No words, Ha-ha even the bottom of sea knows the pinnacle of latitude,
Even the boundless sky slopes somewhere and loses itself…

Pebbles, shells, sand, foams, bristles of water, air,
Fragments, fills, paces my heart to stitch the paradigm,
Countlessly weaving the waves, the leaves, the light that precipitates,
To fill a burrow with ecstasy and let loose on emotion,
Comes incognito underneath the matter of sorrow,
Or goes knocking every heart with mirth of love!

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