I, Myself, Am Always The Ever- Impatience Of The Crematorium Poem by Soumen Chattopadhyay

At the onset of evening, you come down to my amassed darkness
With many signs of the time of annihilation, you stand up in seclusion
I see the ashes of son, flying across the terrain
Moreover, the seeds are being scattered in the fields, unconcernedly
All these ancient questions are drawn inside the body-womb of the ashes
The notes of seed's cascade, waste, birth and death
Play in the artery, like a rebellious bell

In that miraculous tune, I wake up
With wonder, I get engaged inside the source
The seed-molecules, born of the womb of star
Becomes restless in the void of time
Lot of lustre coming out of dust-water-soil of the earth
Make the afternoon unconscious and take away to the nothing of the west

I, myself, am always the ever-impatience of the crematorium
You come at the onset of evening
In the burning of repose, I find out a heart, which lost everything
The sad who did let me reach to God
By intimate embrace in this thick darkness
At every night, coming down to blue water
Filled up this body with wonder kiss
In my amassed darkness
I draw the picture of her sleeping face in the drift of heaven
Her gaseous voice has inserted sound frequency at the bottom of the skull
And I find that sound
You come at the onset of evening
Call with that voice; within the skull
Once again, I hear its reverberation
Kipping the impatience of the crematorium in touch
Cowherd boys will come back again at the moonlit night
Any one truth without deception is sleeping at the root in deep sleep
At the onset of evening, losing my all, I touch her