Song Of My Unborn Self Poem by Prabir Gayen

Song of my unborn Self
{Unslain, unborn, I wane through the dream of time}

From the first aphanisis murmur of existence,
A broken sigh lost in the chasm of the unseen.
Morn is a wound that bleeds into the eve,
Night spreads its ribs, an unlit naos of grief.

I walk where echoes forget their own name,
Where nameless footsteps sink in wu wei time.
The sky folds inward, entwined in vacant gaze,
A blind abyss where whispers wane and wither.

Dreams flinch and shatter like forsaken waves,
Flames without breath, extinguished in their birth.
A voiceless moan wanders through the pyros' air,
Its kshara bones wane in the tides of Panta Rhei.

Scriptures lie wrecked, their tongues severed, mute,
Their breath turned to lustral fire in time's ruthless pyre.
They stand like veiled prophets on the threshold of silence,
Holding the dust of forgotten suns in their hands.

I chase the vanishing footfalls of eternity,
Wander like mist through night's unfathomed deeps.
Where the unmoving breath of the Ancient watches,
And silence spreads, vast as the unborn Self.

The heavens wear the shroud of a withered hymn,
Entombed within the breath of the formless vast.
Mystic sobs rise, coil around my breath,
Like orphan winds that sink without a grave.

No fate, no dirge, nor silence carved in dust,
Only the tide where being and void embrace.
I stand, not as witness nor nameless wraith,
But as the fleeting echo of the eternal vast.
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@Prabir Gayen
31March 2025/ 3: 33 PM