Kakoli Choudhury

He seems to be a poet,
His deathless mind endlessly flaps,
The unimpeded soar of a hawk,
The flow of the nomadic stream.
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The two honey bees I dream of
Droning, buzzing, zooming,
Mumbling about the night's darkness.
I see them whizzing fast,
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Life, Blink thee not,
For thou had a mortal fate,
A legions of mysterious to unfold,
Myriad tacits to be mould.
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Sprouting from the heart,
Oozing the soul,
soothing the nerves,
With a mind full of stars
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Shielding the rush of dust,
She fosters the seasons,
Wombing deep in the chest
With blood and vine.
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Cringing down the days
As the feast commences
Gulping time over Life,
To live a saint silhouette,
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The stream flows,
Twisting and turns,
Through pebbles and dirts,
And falls to the river at last.
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You groweth in me,
Amidst the blues and glee,
years feed the sapling
And love blooms in spring,
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The little girl darts
With her puny begrimed feet
Dived into oversized sandals.
Cloaking her frowzy frame
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Venom between the curved lips,
Nurtured soul of Satan,
Contagious, lures the world
With a scathing lullaby,
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Resurrecting from the broken bits,
She bleeds her stars in ink.
Each leaf harbours a lone life.
If one in the navel
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A bud on bloom,
Pampered by the sunshine,
Shielded by the starlit sky,
Versed by the dozen dew drops.
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Procreating out of Aphrodite's genes,
Every soul be enamored,
Salvaging from the Cimmerian dearth,
The inured sting be medicated
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The last day anchored the clock,
The swan song tuned in the air
Time flaunting its pace, accessed
Drubbing the trumpet of its power,
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Lolls upon the earth, a cavader
Carpeted with the silent shroud,
Amidst some farewell mores
Still, irenic, it lies
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