Bazi alis Subrata Ray
Arpita, -My First Poem.
My First Poem.
Were it you in your tender age
Beauty in Beauty's vase With divine rage.
Were it you in your tender age.
I too were in my blooming Summer
A beggar a-begging in the meadow
Cried for a goddess In desolate mirage
Or spent wait-less waiting for the Godot.
My willing will suspended,
With the flash of wild calmness,
With the dumbness of your dumb,
Benumbed I got reduced,
More of a rainbow than your sight,
The green adolescence of your might!
I feel the feel of love
In the cozy tub of your being
The unsaid arises in every breathing,
A haunting spell waits with eagerness
Trillions universes come and go
I wish to merit the scale
I wish to possess the privilege
If I could have the love you know!
You flashed as an African maid,
Or a roe from forest lone,
Or a dream-girl from Arabian tales
, And teased escape velocity to,
All my static vehicle.
And I labored under the impression,
To be a slave to serve well.
You came on Time’s wheel,
And Time ceased its decaying flow,
Things invisible beyond nature,
As fossils became lives to glow.
Did you not come?
Had you not been?
How could my love blow in the wind!
But for your sake,
Me a fake could not remake,
And proved a gay of Time,
Had you not come,
How could I sing your crystal rime.
Vagabond, haggard and desolate waif,
On reasons and Nature,
I with clave feet had my strife,
A stamped-fool’s life with senses’ parasites,
A vacant survival of beguile compromise,
Did go on, go on, without Your comprise.
Hey wonder revealing grandest Being,
Liquid music, boarders withering,
Opener of nowhere artisan-well,
And leveler to the Holy-water level,
Had you not sprang, had you not rung,
How could I see my first poem!
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(March 26, 1874 – January 29, 1963)
(13 September 1916 – 23 November 1990)
(1644 - 1694)
(12 July 1904 – 23 September 1973)
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Edgar Allan Poe
(19 January 1809 - 7 October 1849)
(1612 – 16 September 1672)
(26 April 1564 - 23 April 1616)
(1 February 1902 – 22 May 1967)
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