Nothing Is Finished Poem by Pranab Kusum Dutta

One's heart is not made of stone
Hence it's a subject to death,
Subject to decomposition!
Remember those nights- one wept alone
And never satisfied with any conclusion
Because nothing proves nothingness
Truly virtuous!
When tears stop flowing we begin to scorch
Our several dreams burnt and
Some obvious-
Realities indeed betray with too many-
Hotchpotch and fallacious wisdom
They appear to us as philosophies,
Philosophies unknown-
Oblivious- we never reject any.
Because rejection-
Of our earliest truths provoked
A thousand million-billion agony;
Forced to arise and embed in life,
And their crucifixion-
Here continued
Still they thrive.
Though discontented we are
But futile to deny a cup of venom
We say it a cup of nectar, and-
Nevertheless we drink.
As we go, we go forward, we think
No word remains for a newest rhyme,
So close we come to the end, so close
We come to the Time-
But at last we see
Nothings finished.