Loneliness Poem by Subrata Ray

May you be a toad in wintery -sleep,
A wild river enclosed in an earthen pot,
Or an ardent cave waiting for Godot,
Wearing a loneliness' cloth.

You may poke me of my whereabouts,
Of my mystic glamour, peeping doubts,
As if the language of a desert or forest,
Or heavy weight of a forlorn widow's breast.

You may assume my remedy with wine and woman,
Or a hubris' pleasure with yes-party -fans,
Or feasting eyes in the nude junctions.

Yet, yet dearest friend,
Whether prepared or untrained,
In your ship on the wide sea,
Your soul's captain loneliness be.