Manas Mukherjee Poems

Life's just another canvas this day,
Upon which brushes thy mind's sorrow;
And the pearl that made red, thy design.
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Of wild nature art thou born, lest, of clay, melt;
God's hand thy breast tears,
And as thou unto deep dreams plunge
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Thou O in sweet mixture dwell!
Divine melodies, in a lot, unheard,
Yet be a note more serene.
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That love is in two minds,
Thy passion gets breached;
The bliss, those with might, preached
And doth thy pleasure binds.
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I dwell in life's sweet truth,
The beauty, he falls upon the mud,
And bold glory earns, that pain sooth
The great golden bird.
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Patches glow of bronze, of red and sapphire;
Golden lads and their youthful ladies,
Bathe they in hues of oranges and berries;
The tinted bliss does throughout prosper.
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Sacrilege, on Elysium, plays her flute,
And pride, his pipe smokes, as counts the past:
With love, his sweet holy dispute;
That she fled to Zeus, and sheltered under his trust.
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Gaia's mythic bonds crossed,
Ruined bricks seeking redemption
For lurking tyranny, alas submits her blood!
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Afeared steps, hark, forth dark alleys,
They crawl past with thy rise!
Thy shining posture o'er the vacant valleys,
Thou life's light, a beauty without prize.
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She still be made to stab,
But lives the year's fall;
Hues, the essence, doth grab,
Such was she, the flower of love withal!
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