Mending The Self For Love. By Ray Subrata Poem by Subrata Ray

Mending The Self For Love. By Ray Subrata



I could not love you dearest,
For I could not know my morbid mind,
With your presence, I sought, purgative,

Of my stirred senses’ hounds.

Had it been so, I were a widow,
With no care –takers, as I take privilege,
Of the crumbling, crawling, daily mirage.
The evacuation of cavern-full smokes.

Would you kindly wait dearest,
A century more, in this seven seas gate
With your boat here?
Would you let me undress,
The residue of scorpions,
And be bare to give you weightage.

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Subrata Ray

Subrata Ray

Formerly East Pahistan
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