Bazi alis Subrata Ray
The Wanton Whispers.
The wanton whispers coil memories turbulence,
And dip into the chasm of almost winnings,
The tattered leaves on Time’s winter cry,
As fated widow misses seven hundred guys.
Thoughts as bygone missiles lay vanquished,
On the breasts and the lips of the green-land roe,
Towers, hut, cave and cheap –hour-hotels,
Hang from unary colorless sky.
Phantoms from receded dreams awaken,
And dim-day –light in moon eclipsed night bathes,
Mind built tents cover the cold forest of oblivion.
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