Incarnations Poem by Ratnakar Rout

Like the treacherous nomadic cloud
Conquers the desperate sun
In the twilight hours,
The enigmatic night reigns
Over the innocent earth
Undefended at the sunset
I am coffined within the four walls
When my visible world
Is plunged in to darkness.

Yes, I am caged and protected
Around a concrete jungle
Frictionless conch shell white marble
Is spread under my feet
To safeguard from unwanted
Wounds and cuts.

Do I happy with all these arrangements
I am a helpless creature
Not able to survive
Innumerable stings of thousand snakes
Bitten by serpents mercilessly
Now and then
I aspire to escape
And to encase deliverance
Redundant seeds planted yesterday
Germinate and bloom in to luxuriant foliages
And my helpless body throbs
With the motion of emotions
It turns the tide of the blood
And passionately lofty waves
Kiss the shore
The wild beast in me wakes up
And gradually I am encircled
With lustrous animals
The blood runs through arteries and veins
Violent and hot
Like the mountain stream
Run with boosted ego
During torrential rain
And the wretched man behave funny
When he becomes a have
With a sudden stroke of fortune
Being emancipated
From the desperate condition.

The insatiated desires
Coupled with lust and passion
Build a situation
When I see the images
Of pretty women and macho-men,
I see the off-skirt nudity
In the walls and window curtains
And in the empty houses in silence
I listen the whispers of paragon of beauties.

My heart beats hysterically
My searching eyes pierces in to everything
Desirable and un-desirable
When I go on losing battles
One after another
My aspire to encounter the bare bodies
And off-cloth images
Everything in its virgin contour
Which appear and disappear
Quickly from my vision.

In absence of the influence
Of any shadow from any where
Like the Himalayan ego covers up the mind
And finally swallows up the self
I do not wish to visualize at that moment
The artificial makes of the
Human endeavor
But I split in to parts my-self
And do not tolerate
My catastrophic aspirations
When the day break,
I become a victim and a tool
At their hand, the makers of
So called civilization
And where I am destined
To chant loudly the slogans
To dress up
To cloth up Against obscenity
Remember at the daybreak
I dress up my-self
And give this clarion call.