Long before the clicking of time-clock,
When memory had no advent,
Your abstract image planted its reflection,
In the all mirrored prism of my soul.
Love is a haunting spell
it allows imagination to fulfill
The eyes twinkle,
The minds bro show,
The snakes in the bodies,
Hiss and go.
Others do little, and say more,
Seek to open many doors,
And project their Gay, in life’s bay,
But you with your certitude and faith,
Love turns to empathy when one sees God in all,
The sharing of the self in life's rise and fall.
Fostered humbleness, blooms the empathy's flower,
And with it God's bliss, spontaneously showers.
The Fool’s Paradise.
Who is the Fool that creates Fool’s paradise, ?
Is he not a not a dream-land wise?
The Mystery Of Music.
Music by nature is without word,
As the dumb in us prevails,
The notes within find flow,
Mountain, ocean, sky
Desert forest and the rest
Dear sweet heart,
The exchange of love letters,
Our abstract impossible,
Gardens our trees,
My Journey Through Some British Poets. by Ray Subrata
If I start from Shakespeare,
I see love be-fooling Time,