Lily Of The Dawn Poem by Jayita Bhattacharjee

Into each heart, a pain that lies,
beneath the rocks of hardened grief.
Into each soul, are words unspoken,
In each life, a story stays untold,
In the kiss of dawn, God clasps the soul.
Torn is the agony, as stones break into roses.

A place, a time, when blossoms ache,
Whispers arise, and the deep burning pain,
flies like a dove.
A flower in the crack, a poem in the soul.
In God's embrace, I sense the wild ocean.

In the kiss of dawn, a pilgrim soul, am I.
This spirit now breaks every chain of agony,
For me to open as a lily in bloom.
Though wild winds blew, the sepals unfurled,
and in the deep, the petals slowly uncurl.

Into each life, as agony gusts,
Into each heart, as teardrops fall,
There comes a moment,
When raindrops turn to thunder.
There comes a season,
When a blizzard becomes aflame,
and down in the cracks, a flower came to life.

The heart that fell in spiritual winter,
opens to the summer blaze,
As every seed unfurls in cheers
Throwing blooms in the air.



The agony-laden soul,
bears blossoms in the ache.
A cluster of petals, deep inside.
And the hanging boughs ripen to life.

Untilled soil gets tilled again,
As I plow through the seasons of life,
To dig into the deep, through the soil into the fruit.
Into this soul, the river runs wild again.

These trembling lips quiver in life,
After autumn's lingering melodies.
Through grief so thick, I slogged for ages,
but in the kiss of dawn, I opened into light.
There I glow, like a flower of night.

I am the soul, unfolding in life,
I am the heart that creates an art,
Stung by the prick of too deep a thorn,
I am the poet who paints through words,
The sadness that swells inside the heart.

I am the river who finds the motion,
Through the unfurling rhythm of life.
I am the soul who finds a melody,
Despite the season's saddest passing.

In the gleaming glaze, I rise.
As sunlight gilds the river of eyes,
The gem of morn lights my soul.
To unfold life in every shade.

The light that shimmers in the dark deep,
The river that flows in the deep thirst,
Sings, at last, the unsung melodies.


Now I sense, the rush of spring,
for the ache is ripe into sweet lullabies.
the wine of life, I taste at last,
from the scented wreath of fresh blossoms.


'I Sense My Thirst'...Excerpt
Jayita Bhattacharjee