The Futility Of Friendship. Poem by Subrata Ray

My vagabond since childhood did share,
Each day’s fellowship, love, quarrel and care,
With so many of echoing meadows,
The tinged grace of passing shadow.

The warmth of adolescence,
The promise of youth’s hope,
The dreamy tenor of friend sequence,
In laughter joyous in favorable scope.
I thought they futured empathy’s scope.

In Time’s urn,
The tender burns,
The lambs grow to tigers,
Each of us,
In their vase,
Peeps as grey figures.

The verdurous blooms,
The widening landscape to valley,
Naughty, noisy, lapping enterprise,
Nowhere appear sudden surprise.

Now in Magician’s bag,
Hopeless waiting for a tag!

The vagabond hoary,
To taste the earlier glory,
Sets step to mend old acquaintance,
Jumping bar, his or her, -many a fence.

“So many years later,
Have you come to flatter? ”
Said lightly the business boss,
Swinging cozy the velvet couch.

“How happy I am to see you class mate,
But I was detained by your captain in the gate”

“How lucky you are, to be brought here,
Without any previous appointment,
I am kind you may find,
And send the casual in the tent