Bhaben Barua Poems

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.
...

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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It's the voice of whiteness -- a blue-throated restless silence :
That's upon the peaks of life, and of death too;
Found through meaninglessness at intervals --
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He keeps humming
on the moments of the midday--
hung out on the clothes-lines.
...