Edina-21 Poem by shuvo chakraborty

This flying time of minutes and hours,
Of sigh, suave, sorrows and sensation,
Of natural and unnatural hours, of blooming flowers,
Ever grinding our acts and deeds, charities and misdeeds,
Generating high ranged dust and flakes of departed
Plenty to blur the next course of action, confused souls,
Millions under the dim lit pole, to be crucified morning before.
One and one upon the pillion, mad rush to beat the city time
And the third one and another, all total four in time chess board.
Falling hairs white or brown swift enough to beat the feathers,
Glowing hairs straight and bright dancing under the traffic light,
Vanishing red light of late night cab whiskers away the zebra cross.
The gathering dust of the day floating through the rummaging day,
Hot and dry in high pitched summer, no voice to clamour,
No motion and emotion to confer about the limited life and joy
In the skyscrapers and in the blazing city malls, the queens of night.
The lady old weaving the reels age old in the soft corner of lonely moon,
Staring million years upon the settling masses of billions atoms
In the softest womb of Earth and being the fathers of grinding dust
Or the uncountable rusts in hearts forming condensed heat
To melt the mundane feelings and insensible bondage,
From cosy faithful beds to shadowy dingy lanes,
The eternal time palace to hair split all the waves born yet.
Adiue the clumsy hours, adieu the dust unsettled,
What we see before is the sea of husk and behind the world obnoxious
Too hard to settle our rising self before the stars are burnt.