In Search Of A Poem Poem by Prabhakar Sarma Neog

If I could write that one poem
If I could imprison laugh and sorrow, riches and poverty, man-mind-earth and hope
If I could find that sorcer's stone
Could have plated with gold
The human sculpture tortured by time.

Yes, I write poems.
But does it make a poem poem?
Where lie its soul?
In some dark prison cell, a withered flower?
Or in the wild streaks of the hair of a possesed beast?

The contours of poetry will paint sun dreams clouds darkness and blood,
Sigh-sense-sorrow and joy
The chants of which will raise the stony concience of hope and peace.
Poetry will draw tomorrow
And will paint, too.

Where lies that evergreen poem of ours?
I am looking for it,
Will you try, too?