Love Is Not Easy Thing. Poem by Subrata Ray

O Love You are not easy thing,
People pollute you with senses ring
O Love You are not easy thing.

Love, leaving the self,
Roll and impel others bells,
And holds the sorrows that comrades bear,
Open the home for wretched, waif and orphan to share.’

O love you are not easy thing,
Suffering cultivates your maiden-being,
Sorrows of morrow, you borrow,
And burn the desire’s hopes,

You empty the self, to be a help,
And devotion services your flower,
You become a bliss, in temporal lease,
And soothing contentment shower.