Inner Realm__ Life Is A Wait- Poem by Prabir Gayen
Inner Realm__ Life Is A Wait-
Inner Realm
_ Life is a painful wait_
A little drop of dew quavering on the leaf,
Formed not by the surge of natural
hue,
Untimely rain with thunderstorms formed it,
Yet, by accident though it was born, built,
It shudders in fear for losing it's face,
A tiny dew, a form yet no form wishes to live.
The bubbles on the ocean, the breeze that moves,
Every small form is the pain of mighty heart.
The divine is radiance through transient.
The death is the bed of life and repose.
Every fleeting pain is the time of fruition.
The light is warm and thedarkness is cold,
Inside the cold womb of nature life is nourished.
The little drop is losing it's hon guise,
It is waning with the mild blow of air,
Into the grand nothingness it will vanish.
Yet the cricket is pouring it's heart's joy,
Or it's pain untold and unknown for all,
The evening is deathly and empty drum,
With aquas rue and woe it celebrates the sorrow.
The drop of the dew into which life peeps,
The cricket's incessant cry and hearty hymn,
The mizzle over the horizon that lies,
The dark light that asserts life's sad lyric,
The way that plods painfully stops on the way.
Life is a faint delight to ruminate,
The lived past with unlived dream, never wert real.
The tiny drop is fading inside my being.
A sudden Kiss-curl laved the shore of Mind.
In the ocean of unredressed wishes,
Life is a painful wait to look beyond.
Untimely rain with thunderstorms formed it, Yet, by accident though it was born, built, It shudders in fear for losing it's face,
The bubbles on the ocean, the breeze that moves, Every small form is the pain of mighty heart. The divine is radiance through transient.
The divine is radiance through transient. The death is the bed of life and repose. Every fleeting pain is the time of fruition.
little drop of dew quavering on the leaf, Formed not by the surge of natural hue,
little drop of dew quavering on the leaf, Formed not by the surge of natural hue,
The drop of the dew into which life peeps, The cricket's incessant cry and hearty hymn, The mizzle over the horizon that lies, The dark light that asserts life's sad lyric,
Yet the cricket is pouring it's heart's joy, Or it's pain untold and unknown for all, The evening is deathly and empty drum, With aquas rue and woe it celebrates the sorrow... ......
The light is warm and thedarkness is cold, Inside the cold womb of nature life is nourished. The little drop is losing it's hon guise, It is waning with the mild blow of air, Into the grand nothingness it will vanish.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
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6/16/2024 2:22:30 PM # 1.0.0.1119
A little drop of dew quavering on the leaf, Formed not by the surge of natural hue,