Edina-29 Poem by shuvo chakraborty

Why do I met the dead men and mirages at sleep?
Why the near and dear of yesteryears knock my drowsy state and speak?
Why do the ancient bones rattles so in the wee hours of night?
Why do the places long forgotten float before me so prominent?
Deads come in haunting spree and convey their words unspoken in solitude
And camel men with hundreds of their herds parade before me spectacularly.
These two worlds are of yawning gaps from the world of living and desert,
From the warm blood and dreaming minds as the deads do not dream
Nor the camels of desert gossip with heads straight, oblivious about the next.
Our state was in the middle, safe from death but closer to the desert,
As we squandered the precious moments looking to each other in oblique manner.
Dancers from ancient courts danced for hours in unique gesture with lovely songs,
But we never let our hearts to count their beats nor allowed the pulses shaking
And bid a cold adieu to these fairies to withdraw quietly in unfair manner.
Then walked in the forlorn heath being filled with thorny bushes and wild flowers
Till the next desert consumed all the tears turning a fruitful possibility in to mirage.
But we walked or is paddling in the little lake in oasis still just for a cool from scorching days.
Deads have gone to the hell and the camel men to their tents for a lengthy rest,
Men and women fair or dark having living winking eyes let their lids to brief fallings.
Another morning, another day with vague promises has dawned in the remote corner
Of our substance but with crescent moon still lingering over the icy souls.
May be it a common story in all generation, a common relation you can find
Being so masterly curved upon the temple stones with amorous pinning.
Thousand years have past and millions tempting gestures are born in warm ambience
And lost in the current of time running but the temple depicting those wanderers
Are all now immortal verses or songs pleasing our ears with hidden stony sorrows.
Thus we have grown a penchant for pricking reminiscence about had or had not
Sitting before the archaic curves speaking too much about what was unspoken.