The Banyan Seed. Poem by Subrata Ray

The way-mate banyan till waits,
It unfolds wings in scorching heat,
And invites the first summer breeze,
To have our bygone lease.

The lagoon by the river Belmudri,
And the passage line in village Alpine,
Lay the carpets of our infatuations,
And the devotional flowers of first offering.

The time-stolen corner box,
At the closing of uncertain ferry,
Casts wiry, weary look,
In absence of the pages of our adolescent book.

The mud-made paternal hut,
Now with a lonely bachelor laments,
And often in whisper pleads mandate,
To snatch away you by seven rivers wade.

The time of the spring in Time winks,
Dining the wild Summer and dropping Autumn,
For the heart grows like the banyan seed,
And the Youth remains as the untouched Mead.