Bhaben Barua Biography

There’s a silent grace mathematical,in each and every bone,
Like smiles unembodied ,in each and every cell,
The ultimate that has no colour,no sound,no taste or smell.
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Each word is an angel. Have to
Find each one in that smoky solitude — where
An evening drowns in the water — And above the
Dark forest suddenly is visible the glimmer of a star-studded sky — flapping
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The feel of your hands
Comes like the cold.
On the asphalt road at night,
In disjointed bits of song.
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Search, search in the bosom of night
With your hands outstretched
Those hands where time keeps moving.
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Down the very heart
Of a wide expanse of waters
Lies a music of transparence
Of unfathomable sorrows.
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