Treasure Island

Bazi alis Subrata Ray

(January / Formerly East Pahistan)

The Ionized Urn.


The cause talkative,
The primal burns,
The honey oozing hive,
Are haunted by ionized urn.

Mistress Transpire,
Mr. Welding pipe,
Strive and thrive,
To be ionized with mystic knife.

Ah! the swooning under a fit,
A bear in the cover of a rabbit,
The rising of geography in history’s habit,
The jumping of quanta from forest-orbit,
All turn into an ionized urn.

Lo! my son and your daughter,
Flirt, fuse and flatter,
They are urged to have the ionized butter.

Submitted: Friday, May 17, 2013
Edited: Wednesday, September 11, 2013
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  • Doug Bentley (5/18/2013 1:53:00 AM)

    A strangely compelling poem. unsettling collision of images. as one from a foreign culture i hope you see this comment as a weak way of saying i think this is a subtly powerful poem. thank you. (Report) Reply

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