In My Temple I Am With My Darling Green. Poem by Subrata Ray

In a dream land,
Stands my dream girl,
Love herself she is,


Never she would see her poet,
For too unequal and humble he is,
So many are there kings and monarchs,
Whose reality she be please.

In my dream land, my love grows,
No expenditure it has, no desire to borrow.
And never she is pleasure, but ocean of sorrow.

My would be reality, employs Time to fleet,
And my Being from the Artist learns how to greet,
The ropes of her style, and her queenly grief.

May it be she would love me,
Or may it, never a not,
So what goes it to me with such assumptions,
If my me with love, does ever get fraught.

In my dreamland I am with my darling green,
The Temple without I am, within she is the shrine.