The Impression Of The Self. Poem by Subrata Ray

The Impression Of The Self.

Time and again,
Time split into broken images,
Of Winter, Autumn, and rain,
Fake mind received waves of loss and gain,
And my digging to have rainbow-wings,
My firing radioactive for sense burning,
In light and shade with so many beds,
The deserted orphan went on crying!

There might have been A Time,
When Time had no relativity,
Or the dreamy Earth had no gravity,
And the Non-Dual on Void prevailed,
You had your joy with me,
And I had my oblivion in tranquil-transcendence!