The Divine Infatuation! Poem by Subrata Ray

My time waits with frustration's night,
My casting eyes are but drought for your sight,
My lone hut, loses its art, in pitiable plight,
And my vacation is sick without your ride.

My fading me breathes anguish for your advent,
My whole psychic stretches up to the shore,
And in cultivated melancholy wears widow's lore.

My love for you negates the allotted time and space,
It bothers little for the cycles of so many births,
But for you who needs earth and heaven!
Hey dearest Miracle! How could I survive!