Edina-8 Poem by shuvo chakraborty

Here is the light but not apt to call it a day
Nor the night to spread our wings for flying.
Altogether like eventide for bare reading the landscape,
Which appears funny looking, some yellow and some quite red,
Far from possible human presence and appearing lifeless,
May be it the land of aliens or sighing apes.
Whatever might it be which bother us less
As this commanding solitude with offering blue grapes,
Has sufficient assurances for meals and a pleasant rest,
After flying million miles we are looking tried and unshaped.
This is not time proper to hair split the meaning of previous existence
Nor to seek the darkness of underneath in such premature age
As all our words not spoken, meaning of life still unsettled on cupboard
As we are neither living nor dead like this confused place,
This hazy existence may sharp our dull emotion and cure our sick embrace.
We had served the earth enough and have had twittering presence
And like other fellows composed the tune of short or lengthy utterances
Knowing not the dusty lyre was useless to play.
Such a fools we were, such a senseless overtures we made,
Foresee the future through the broken lense.
Now throw such uncomforting past on this cold lake
Which seems to freeze full in coming winter soon
And any shameful happenings and ill deeds
Must be lost forever in this snow beneath, faithful witness.
Even in next summer if the lake be sullied with melting snow,
That will not endanger our shadowy past be discovered and deciphered
As these aliens or apes have no human hearts to rend the meaning of words.
Therefore conjure all joys if remain at least so in cloudy form
As this land seems to bereft of rain god and water flows
To contempt our cloudy pleasure or to render any smoky blow,
Affording us to dismiss with maiden storm and rain.