Life Poem by BIBHAKAR DUTTA

No pleasure, no peace,

I like to live in grief.

Life is like the mist-

It cares nothing,

and always makes me a selfish.

Life is so speedy.

It fails to erect my inner sense.

Life is so busy…

I am lost,

and I am drowned into senseless emotion.

I almost forget to bestow my passion.

life may be

flowered with love for you or for others,

but this soul is full of insensibility.

So, where is THE LIFE?

Get it to me.

Love!

How many kinds of love we embellish?

Love makes life or life gets love

It's very hard to believe a beloved.

May be sometimes it suitable,

but does life give its solution?

To love and to hurt,

or to hurt after love are the material perception.

An injured soul seeks repletion.

can life give it?

or only consoles to forget it....

An empathetic soul never follows the optimistic speeches.

It always try to find the exact norm.

It needs strength and the great wisdom.

But life just knows to hurt.

Life can award only an ungraceful spark!

How many times I beg to my life?

I make imploration

Yet, mind full of frustration.

Are these all illusion?

Illusions for love, for passion, for intimacy.......are those sins?

If yes, then I made those hundred times

(mistake)

for love and for my life's shake.

yes, I did such mistake-

yet life could give me a last chance,

though I am not the great sinner;

I could revive my thoughts out of any suspect.