Buddhadeb Bosu

(30 November 1908 - 17 March 1974 / Comilla / Bangladesh)

Sonnet For Winter, 48 - Poem by Buddhadeb Bosu

There is nothing out there; draw the curtain close.
Those are only to lull you -- grass, dirt, puddle, sky.
Not that your potted plant, pet songster are any less false.
Fall into yourself, sink into your own black hole.

Objects are decoys, safer to be deaf as stone,
No Tao can teach you what you don‘t already know.
As Sinbad with his load of old man of the sea
Get used to this daylong donkey’s toil of crafting rhyme.

Winter casts its anchor; what need to wait for more?
Coast and seaport come to life on an once immaculate wall;
Hours, gongs, bells, changes merge into one.

Flinging away its cloak of light and moonlight,
The earth slips into obscurity so that you can create
Your own unmoving sun and earth and moon on the page.

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Poem Submitted: Sunday, March 18, 2012



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