Haraprasad Ray

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Words Of Silence

Even a few days become tens of thousands of years, these days.Often I get drowned in the silent bay.
The sky suddenly, of and on, turns an unending dome, and as if swallows meat, bones, marrow, longing, feeling, etc. everything. Even existence.
Every eyelid-drop draws a new collage of a stranger world. Different.
Nonetheless, there are known footprints across every pathway.
Same face is at every window,
and a familiar fragrance of known soul everywhere.
Warmth of a wing get spread smeared, all over;
embarrassing air, around.An eon plays in the blink of an eye, as if.
Millions of years pending at the scratch of horizon seems.
But a nebula you're, out of reach, and I am as if an alone in an unmapped island.

©Harprasaad Ray

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