The Self Invited Futility Poem by Subrata Ray

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The confused bundles of packed imaginations,
The vain glory of un-contented thoughts,
The dry annals of war, sex, and hypocrisy,
And the same sailed diary of consumptions,
All are negative bubbles in life’s little lease.
Sorry figures, we cut in our brag of adventure,
Irony beguiles and Time smiles being indifferent,
And love, -the Passion’s ghost squeeze the oil,
We get burnt out and turn into a skinny coil.
Lapped in female-male vase we play mimic,
And build the paradise of futile hope,
Burden of suffering accumulates in degree,
Coffin and pyre drag us to them.
God given conscience in us cries in wilderness,
But the weakness within deprives us to see its face,