Through Swines Muddy Lanes. Poem by Subrata Ray

Alone I was,
And wished,
To have a mate,
Said the nasty street,
With her faceless face.

An anchor assumed he,
As imagination equals me,
And now in the street,
With sparrow, and wolf,
My mates, - rate and taste,
Me and the fire of my book

In the evening rises the sun,
As the night grows my day starts,
The cock and hen, bear squirrel,
Replace with blue and red light.

My mirror, reflects broken shadows,
Of a whole African -forest, like ghosts,
Of stamp-less ages, that seek dens,
And my God, I think is still with them!

My days and fate are for dates,
Still this vehicle sounds well,
And wilds the drivers' frenzy,
A sail through swines muddy drains.