Creation Poem by Biswajit Basu

Trailing fingers on supple skin,
The pressing crush of textured lips,
Hardened tissue parting fleshy hair,
Torsos sliding, ramming hips.

Undulating wildly like a wind tossed wave,
Cresting together in a mighty shower,
As a million diadems of passions unbind,
As the final moment draws precipitously near.

A moan and a cry escape fevered lips,
As exploding novae fills empty space,
Liquid heat of creation flows,
Penetrating a cell in the nether place.

What is left behind is a quivering sublime,
A beautiful, serene and pacific calm,
Hands entwined in a wondrous thought:
Why is creation in such violence wrought?