The Restoration Of The Human Poem by Subrata Ray

My time waits with frustration's night,
My casting eyes are but drought for your sight,
My lone hut, loses its art, in pitiable plight,
And my vacation is sick without your ride.

Ah! Insufficiency! Incompetency !
From trillion chambers run the reasonable runners,
And reasons read reasons to survive,
The chambers bud, bloom, and fade into nowhere,

Where is the solution? To be mitigated with perfections!
The perfection of which the mind is in the dark,
And all our intellect are but instincts instruments,
Innovations of communications and arms! .

My vagabond has grown wretched,
With taste of the tongue and play of senses,
With processed thoughts of chemical products,
With forced tyranny of plundering intellects!

I am a converted Shame of hopeless remedy!
And too weak to take a step to open the door,
Hey Innocence! come, knock, break, and enter,
Uncover the shroud, and be dewy grass in my corpse!