Awakening Of An Infatuated Pedestrian Poem by Ratnakar Rout

Awakening of an infatuated pedestrian
Like the sound of breeze,
Voice of the solitude,
Song of the stream
And hum of the bee
A whisper in silence always reminds me
Of thee when I forget.

I am in chains you know
From head to toe
Fail to distinguish who is who
Forget often what to do
Where to go
When I will leave the castle and tentacles of time
Will not bind me any more
I am not that ‘I' to be identified further
With the abandoned lifeless body
Desperately left to the generous vultures
Who eye on dead creatures only.

Look at me!
And into my colossal anatomical maneuvering
You will stumble at the sight of titanic soot
And it's messy deposit
For several years stingily inside
My ignorance entwined with the immense
Self contained ego has baffled me so long
I am measurably emasculated and realize
At this belated hour of my life what is with in
The inquest is still on as to whether
Any scope is left to emancipate further
The eternal self from the worldly insomnia
And insidious gala that has preoccupied me since long.

My subtle realization at this hour
Propels me to insulate the corolla
Blossoms are carried away and
Lose track unknowingly
By stealthy sting of the notorious moth
For momentary pleasure
And all subsequent efforts
That cannot be hindered by any fence.

I have failed to explore yet
That a honeycomb is hidden somewhere inside
After a minimal effort for my favourable fortune
A feeling of unflinching ecstasy emanates
From the generous sun
Which I discovered in the long run
A garrulous voice spites venom
But speaks less though rains the words
That may not contend an onlooker.

As otherwise you know
The silence has many words
It enunciates itself in intrusion
It has a powerful voice
Even so on so forth it is expressed
I am amazingly mute now
My silence has a strong voice, I know.

It is reflected in my face
Amiably guess the reason of
Such an embryonic stoic silence
Because as you know I listen the muse
And am mesmerized as it is
Endowed with sweetest of words
That engrosses the inner self with perennial feelings.

Probably this is not that muse
Nor the voice of the silence
It is that undying call of someone
From somewhere for the awakening of
An infatuated Pedestrian
That enchants me now and then.