Obaidur Rahman

The shallow depth
Of your innate obscurity,
Behind the veil of your serene wonder
Echo-heals my frantic tranquility.
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And then she came
The Angel of the seven skies,
Through the eyes of blue
She summoned the tales of truth and lies.
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Braving the storm, soldiering strong
In this epic hour of my odyssey,
Gone are the days of troubled waters
Here I’m into the warmth of the divine prophecy.
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Hear the sound-waves of silence
Come crashing down into the walls of desire,
On two feet with arms wide open
I’m riding the ghosts of ice, taming the cynic fire.
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Familiar yet strange
Similar through the cycles of change,
So evil are these beings of Humans
Born to kill and kill to be avenged.
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Saved by the fire eternal, driven by the force primal
I dance to the tune of my divine calling in a psychedelic trance,
Reborn by the jaded poetic, awakened by the power Noetic
The ghost of evolution and the spirit of revolution cleanse my solemn stance.
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Don’t care anymore, what my future would be,
Without spirit….there is nothing me.
Sleep don’t wrap me up no more, nor time do usher the heal,
I sink in my bed, just got days to kill.
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I feel so down, I feel so low
Time and time again, as if, I told you so,
I’ve been burning, since the world’s been turning…
Debt of despair is all I owe.
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Wrecked and weathered, in this hour of forlorn tragic
By the whisper of spell, the demon casts her magic.
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Clouds of misery; they rain down upon me,
I’m at a loss, where else am I gonna be?
From sleepless nights to the endless days…
I stand still somewhere between the land and the sea.
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Blessed by the mystic galactic
Esteemed by the One Holy True,
Cosmic magical is the union supreme eternal
The one of me and you.
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From the circle of up and beyond
To the sanctuary of the deep within,
I muse in my temple of the holy
With the blessings of the sacred serene.
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Gone are the days of troubled waters
And the triumph awaits me in the scenic euphoric height,
Hence fades away the hammer-storm from the land of the gutters
As the wish-desire propels the destined splendor of my flight.
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What's in writing?
What makes one to author something from the absolute scratch?
What is the science of this art?
Is it just the perceptible version of the human thought or something-deep lies within this solemn form of art?
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Power and empower,
The higher of me over the lower
The higher of me over the lower
The higher of me over my lower.
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Every moment is like sordid acts of desperation,
So gone the hour of sojourn
As I labor in the midst of this rundown inspiration.
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Here comes the stellar starry night
And know the tear-drop of thunder,
Ocean-fills the deepest desire…..
And in this stepping stone to the blessed rising
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Alone in my own ruin,
This soul aches, deep from within.....
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At the edge of darkness
Sleeps the epitaph of mercy,
Since the time spark-lit her magic
Shadow cursed the hour of urgency.
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Time and tide waits for none
Or so I’ve been told by the moon and the Sun,
The lazy hours that idles the day and the night
Living in my sub-consciousness,
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