The Destination Above The Pleasure Of Youth. Poem by Subrata Ray

Youth is pleasure, Youth is pleasure,
Impresses Shakespeare,
Through Feste in Twelfth Night,
But when old age comes,
Youth slips and gets benumbed,
The burden of inertia leaves the memory,
The apparent permanence, withers from story.

And, yet if youth is redirected,
From daily sex, and money's get,
And turns a farmer to plough body's divine,
Youth would be glorified, and refined.


If the parasites of life are uprooted,
The divine tree begins to manifest,
Men and women discover in them,
The possession of subtle body,
For which they were really destined.