Edina Poem by shuvo chakraborty

Do not tell me to be your audience
Nor force me to let you my listener,
As I have gathered heap of wisdom
To bury my voice in grave of reticent.
Henceforth my feeble toung be concious enough
To every word be left high and dry
And let them be fallen on unconcious shelf,
Wherefrom may I pick them of my choice
And drive them in thoughtful manner over white sheet
To reverberate my speaking soul all in black and white.
Perhaps this is the absolute order of our sender
Perhaps this is the eternal tune of roving universe,
Where each string of weighty adumbration
Has deft voice of mighty silence,
Be spoken in eyes or in letters
That could never had words in dusky noises.
So cage all the words that we had or have or might
And hurl them towards the depth of brain
Till most of them melt in blood, leaving few to survive
In opaque minds to utter few and missing most.
Then all will be tears turning to vintage black
To draw dark enough and few golden light in weak canvas.