The Waif’s Wailing. Poem by Subrata Ray

The parental dismay pities,
The identity whereabouts,
The existential beguiles,
Torment the psychic retreat ,
And the heaps of compromises,
Shroud the corpses of conscience.

The dream of pigeon's nest,
Waits in withering heath,
And the garland-glory of a mistress,
Changes paper-flower in red-light heats.

The shadowy residue of erosive hope,
Pricks like the wasted youth in Fate's jail,
And surely in blind desert, will come the last mail.