Retreat Poem by Saroj Padhi

Wait, for tired, my Love has gone into a brief sleep
in arms of illusions of a hoary night under a fading moon
when clouds threaten with sounds hollow but sharp and steep,
without rain enough in shrunken breasts to quench pied cuckoos
as lightning yawns like a tired soldier on edges of parapets in rip,
and a pack of deadly wolves jump out of the wounded jungle
to sneak in and spread terror with ghastly killings of poor sheep;
tuberoses sweat under a canopy of groping, grey clouds
unable to emit aroma before vanishing into the dark pit for sleep;
my Lord has happily returned to His throne in the sanctum
after the annual round in the chariot and the fond hue and cry
when moments of sad introspection dawn with tears too deep
arousing pity for tragic fellow pilgrims' debacles in the journey
before into the fold of a daily hectic life, mechanically we leap!