My Stella - 73 Poem by Prabir Gayen

- - My Stella - -73

Life

The crow is cawing with all cacophony of nocturnal birds,
The fluttering leaves with grumble of young birds in their nesting box,
The darkness that gives them sober rest
Pierces their hearts with fear of hunting snakes.
Life is a false dream and it is a sweet lie,
Living is a great fallacy.
Colour and flower, sky and ocean, earth and air, all lie to human mind.
Mind! A great illusive field to give rise to hopes
That have no basis.
The preaching of seers, the realised soul and spirit of eternal prudence is misleading,
Their gospel is oracular and equivocal.

I lived a life - most likely a spurious, fictitious,
False and deceitful by mendacious vision.
The stars are false, the cloud that inspires poetry of pain and pathos, love and support is rhetorical.
The mind that lives with thousand heads is a delightful foe.
Foe to whom and what is the stable joy?
I spent my days thinking and thinking and with no fruits.
Childhood was a nightmare and all the beauty that did I see is nothing but reflection of absolute shadow.
Chasing tadpole, flying kites and fighting with similar fools were my time pass.
Love that gives dream of supramundane bliss takes all source of sustainability.
The cloudy sky and sunshine soft over the morning hill, the shower after soft slanting light with the sun above and notes of murmuring breeze are nature's anodyne.
All forms of beauty are mirror to us to see the face unknown and arcane.
Walking slowing with sustained breath,
Playfulness of goalless destiny pose vacant
ethos.
Where is the nectar lake that gives life a valid point?
Life! a dizzy feeling, the heart is a diacritic, sealed for eternal damnation.

Thy call o my master I hear yet I hear it not.
Years pain of non action and reaction with fruitless interaction weaken the spirit of living.
Desire though sublime by nature absorbed this
dream- fed eyes and marred the vision.
Moment is lost in the labyrinth of magic spell- passion for living with space entwined.
Love stood second and I was a third dimension.
Here everybody is an island and surrounded by
unseen mettle.
Momentary permutations of things holds not the cup of life.
Nobody belongs to nobody, and life is a munching and ruminating of synthetic substance.
Relatedness, concern and kinship are nothing but consolation of minds abashed, vertiginous and woozy,
Bemused by what is and what is not Minds
rise, not to fall to its being.
The rise is death against metaphysics and falling is death for life - liberation.
I learnt to rise and I am a wretched riser, unable to fall and painful it seems.

Sitting close to my self I see the attached face of my heart throbbing pain- my earthly joy for heavenly life.
She is my outmoded beauty, fragile and worn-out,
Wildly guarded from neoteric delectation.
She is my wild self, the sylva dryad of my heart.
The life once lived in silent hours of dejection by my own experience,
The pain of indulging in the cave of heart,
a seclusion of self pity and a hermitage,
Hard earned quietude of mind to walk alone the path - triggered the flame of living.
All is lost and it is good to be lost.
Buddha failed, Jesus failed and failed all the awakened ones to revive me to capitulation,
My heart is my grave and my redemption.
The salvation that look for is my hankering for love,
The warmth of embrace of my ladylove and in her quavering breath is my sepulture.