An Ode To My Ultimate Bed Poem by Piyush kanti Bandyopadhyay

Risen from the debris of love
Laid down likewise those days
without any living pilow
No pain ringing hullabaloo..no frustration
beneath

Only a solitary fantasy silently
roaring through my spinal cord.

An untimely winter rain, fierce, fearsome, tearing apart
Sketching burning blooms on a scattered canvas
Nor a head neither an appropriate pair of breasts
Somehow crawling in front of my huge failure


Light and insufficiency of light
blazing furor,
smells of burning blood
breaking me into bits and pieces

Bending me. tenderly cutting my liver,
lungs
and that and this and those

untill there's trace of filthy past emotions
Some dreamy yellowish dawns
Some freezing nights
Some white noons with none to buckle
you

None to stare at your unconditional perversion
None to hill those unuttered soars

Procession can have love and hatred as well

Sandal twinkling from my cheeks
Eyes tearing every part of a name
Biting of lips,
beating of khols,
Perhaps the calendar disagree

The roads argue -'its not the exact time to go
'
Perhaps the clocks tickle,
Time likewise pain is a metal sound

cling cling clang clang tring tring
Love is wood.Flexibility is a span and fame is
so touchingly red.


No dream is dream itself.

Not without some intoxicated canals,
some desired fluids of pain,
Some husky sounds of mockery

and a megalomaniac bed.

Let me go, dearest, let me sleep.

The wooden bed, heavenly chirping of birds

motherly blowing of coolness

Let me have the perfect orgasm
Which often wrongly called death.