Ode To My Absconding Beloved Poem by hemanta bora

Oh' Lord! Where're you
Are you there in my crown as
before?
It seems you're absconding:
and, I might not be the scorer,
this jolting, turbulent
torrent of the Gothic-in-fashion,
and the integers wrapping up its germs
in some chaotic depreciations-
Yea, Thy wrath it's, I adore, I
adore
and with tears, and tears
beyond measure, to make
me more, purer, freer as soul
to soar- yet it's entrancing
'..my little jokes on Thee
And I'll forgive Thy great big one on me.'
- The dashing of the
tumultuous surface, shore,
to ebb aw'y its tour to its
ever nearer-core.