Withering Call Poem by Subrata Ray

Somewhere in the distant depth
The psychic chat is sowed,
Covered with mystic dye
It itself emits, and glows.

My miracle! the image peeps,
And the mystic queen, brings the ruins,
For Her absence the heart weeps.

The relatives around cause no relativity,
For empty shadows they appear,
My mystic Queen, alone shines,
‘Lest I lose Her' -says the Fear.

She is my desert, flood, and forest,
My withering end, that me weans,
She is, curse and bliss,
My drudgery and soothing rest.

Her psychic is bike, that runs,
In my ghostly gloom She is my only sun.
© 2 years ago, Subrata Ray spiritual