Haunting Pathos Whispers. By Ray Subrata - Poem by Subrata Ray
Have you seen?
In life’s green,
Bemoaning Pathos’ whispering,
In bed, in shade, falling and rising.
The soul after the death,
Does not leave earth’s faith,
It waits to see, its love and deed,
Its children’s cry, wife’s shy, and their feed.
Our neighbor Samir, a few days ago had his go,
Leaving a wife, , four children and no foe.
The young wife, a Beauty volatile,
Renews her life, renews her style,
Familiar was she, in slums and flat,
With Samir’s poor income, she was never glade.
Either born- perverted, or fury excess,
With poverty’s groom,
She had floating rooms,
But Samir’s honest labor, and goodness,
Even airing, could never point out the trace.
But hers was easy, yielding, minion-base.
Tragedy, farce or comedy what you can say,
Samir with the burden of labor became ill one day,
This was the crack; this was the hack, a chance to be gay,
She was not worry with Samir’s recovery, and hers was a big nay.
Samir’s soul returned from the crimination ground,
Found her wife healthy, gay, charming and sound,
No trace of mourning, reminiscence of the sweet past,
No trace of seeming –shabby, but catching- erotica with lust.
The children were no more seen,
Two were sent to slave, two were given.
Some lewd young,
Tempted to commit wrong,
In shade and bed, in a flight to a glade,
Here where Samair battled, and a paradise made! ! !
While many a Samir, whisper and cry,
Their scheming widows, make the fry,
Life is a tale full of lie,
Sooner the better escape and fly.
For we all under Instinct’s call,
Prepare the ground and bring the ball,
Play, score goal, and then a naught,
Here a happy, there a sorrow, but vainly fought.
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