Bewitching Mystic Poem by Subrata Ray

Bewitching Mystic



It is your love dear, it is your love,
And I never measure it with prosaic cup.
Some thing there, that springs in heart,
Love I say it, Love's glorious part.

Your horse winds me to land unknown,
The province unrecognized are to me shown,
The beggar is graced by prince’s will,
Heaven showers to mitigate and heal.

Plunging, plunging , airing air,
Neither here neither there,
No question of closes and bare,
Time and Body demerit to share.

Oh! ah! love assuming a bewitching mystic,
Feeling, thrilling, stirringly stirred hectic.

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Subrata Ray

Subrata Ray

Formerly East Pahistan
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