I Traveled On A Path, Not Seen – Poem by Deb Panda

“How must it? ” –
Asks the traveler that concerns –
With lacunae of brightness in faint gloom,
While shining hopes are gone obsolete,
And a left time has injured,
With a barest minima,
No more company –
Lost my passers-by to mark
On the way, for the herald must shine.
The final tale of an elegant turn; lie –
Though some has named it –
“Pessimism” – that lacks itself, the trust.
Not the single length of truth could snatch,
As those burning Wax –
Have turned liquid in my cottage,
Throughout the night –
And have brought light on the festive;
Yet I behold there –
To be the gushing rays of all these –
Hopes living with pen die – the Death,
O’ lord! I dreamt of your hand to direct –
My ways embedded with spikes,
And pains of all the world,
To try upon my strength of holding true –
And pertained like hors –
Passed, be moving through,
Pools, grain –fields and villages;
In purest feelings,
No strain marks its laughter.
There, thwart unless the pain is deep –rooted,
Overwhelmingly when it commits –
Watch those six hours, and the has passed,
In a flawless spirit, or guilt,
That turned unuttered in a voice;
As plights of countless pathos,
Impassively in a long journey –
And unturned as though with love –
With no rhythm, or no lyrics,
Of beauty, brief those have noticed.
He dreamt when that came through,
When winds hailed from your city –
Behind the mountains, and the climes,
Blocked roads of ring-road in sand,
On a pity morning, within my soul,
Insane –and never met me;
As I was dreaded,
Imprudent –
As those cycles of life carried.
–Tangles the holy stream;
To diverge –
With strains to fall,
On calm, cold sea of Death.