Old Lone Looks Back To The Past. @ Poet Subrata Ray. Poem by Subrata Ray

The glorious days of the past
Have turned into dust,
The parallel pathways
Revealing valleys , glades,
The surge of mountain Brooks
The warmth of giddy bonvoyage
And teasing romantic look
The wild waiting, with suspended breathing,
Are now nomore.
No ticket for travelling in green train
With a gallant for a damsel
No dream to build a fantasy,
No canopy to flee through skiey blue
No boat to allot in topsy turvy sea.
But Love alone , in a broken Lone
Illumines as if by Spirit supplied oil
Profused immense, holds the Trance
The wealth and wisdom of Old age.
Wither! Withers with the age,
The glamouring glory of enchanting mirage,
And aheads the signal to temple gate
To cover the transient pilgrimage.