The Lessons Of The Naughts Behind. Poem by Subrata Ray

Loneliness Times,
Dense evening is bare,
Photons beam in the backward,
Carelessly looks vacant forward.

What Have I done to you Father?
What else my vacation is?
How in a sandy land, -why,
I am here in passion's lease!

In thousands post I stumble,
My clear sights prove blind,
A ship no sailor, no rudder,
Floats on the grace of wind.

Above! Look above,
Urges my pity upon me,
A destination you may find,
From the lessons of the naught behind.

Some one of your special,
A special of the specials may come,
To unburden you of the pains of your lung,
And 'Surely surely' Faith would proclaim,
'Here I am, a furlong gap, -jump, please jump'