Love Is Liberation. Poem by Subrata Ray

Ah! the Spring is more amorous,
As autumn passes into winter,
The pond forgets the drought,
When flood touches her bosom.
So in wild love there is no norm,
Age bars little and same the custom.
The mind is formed of wild wine,
The joy for the remote prevails,
The bees, if were not polygamous,
The flowers, had no romantic excess.

The outlawed lover holds strange beauty,
As in him the burden of monotony is no more,
The locked up prisoner, hanker after,
The opening of the custody's door.

Liberation with no condition,
Is the demand of the eternal soul,
Love a fall, within all, responds echoing call,
And wings its wing, knowing no impeding ruins!