Unlettered Poem by Sumit Chakrabarti

Here I am,
A divergent, placed in the two worlds of placelessness.

Here I am,
lost in the eloquence of silence.

For often I question, what I am?
The breath of a flute player, may be.
Or I am the morning's hush,
An unheard song, the hippocrene.

The blossom of spring, painter of love, fragrant lyric!
an inexplicable notion of rush!

Or I am a promise that alights hope,
An unheard poem, felt by love!
I am the choir, of morning's hush,
The wish of an opening lilac!
I am the mystery clad in morning mist,
A flute, chanting of love; in your heart.
Forever!

O soul, what are you?
A bird of wilderness, caged in desires?
Or the morning dew dying under the feet of my beloved.
I am the shrine of pleasure and pain.

I am the birthplace where hope is born out of despair.
Or I am the west wind,
In me, everything begins again!

Or I am just a plaything,
Sees the end is start as start sees the end,
Born in spring, dies in fall.
Soul of soul says-Yes, that's the call.

I am not silenced, silence is all.
Untamed sage says-yes, that's the call.

Or, born out of nothingness,
I am the author of my own tempest.

Oh soul! what are you? tell me what are you?

I am an untraveled road, quite forlorn,
Thus let me live, unseen, unknown!