Bazi alis Subrata Ray
The Tempest From The Unconscious. - Poem by Bazi alis Subrata Ray
The links to the senses were boomeranged,
The planted traps on pleasure house licked dismay,
The traditional gay haggard in the weary mirage,
The Nature’s cycle stood –still in autumnal –winter.
All yesterdays’ hope-ridden dreams breathe smokes,
Of kind as foul odor from the heaps of dead-bodies,
Half eaten and stored booties, wasted in a harem,
Rise and whisper, whisper and rise as phantom-locus.
The earth and the stars receded, departed the memories,
The Time -left –un-rotten corpse wished the confession!
Comments about The Tempest From The Unconscious. by Bazi alis Subrata Ray
Read this poem in other languages
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
Still I Rise
The Road Not Taken
If You Forget Me
Edgar Allan Poe
Stopping By Woods On A Snowy Evening
I Do Not Love You Except Because I Love You