Inner Realm - Slow Death Poem by Prabir Gayen

Inner Realm
-Slow death-

Dying every moment bit by bit beaten.
Every clod of mind, the being collapsed all.
silhouette has become my prime, backbone.
The storms of peripheral pain spin around.
The soul is wanted in the spring tide of my mind.
The ideal form of life is devoured stark.
The bubble of bone is liftingvalde,
Surfacing in circular motion firme.
I am a soul, a forlorn field of being,
Death is blocked in deathless anguish, lethal.
In deep drowsiness like lightning life felt,
Like the gush of vagrant wind in grey noon.
On the lone field where the sun is resting,
among the swaying tingle of asleep birds.
The mind has become a wretched
wreckage.
Thy breast lusty and lousy cannot hold my pain,
Withering spirit of mine, leaningdeep,
Towards unfruitful memory of my past.
The field that was waving to me, mute dream,
Where the garland of supernova awaited,
for me to kiss with manifold warmth of bliss.
Gone is the day, with it the soul of living.
Underneath buried of soft sprouts my heartbeat.
With impassible wish, stygian bed floats.