Olden are the times of honesty and revelation of reveries,
And days of
affirming love with mere shyly smiling auguries,
Within the deepness of
dismal pathways singing the expression,
Of love, being captured by continual
gaze in act of divination.
Times of this mystifying experience was
cadenced in the heart,
Within the intensity of desolated shores where songs
of alleys depart,
In the mid-summer fixture between singing waves and musical
breeze,
Dressed in golden mask, Love- the pleasure of life did
increase.
And the dame, once beautifying self for reunion with the knight
from dreams,
Is now poisoned with his rhyming words of wonder world, and in
solitude screams
Day dreams, the nightmares of crumpling skies over love’s
clandestine garden,
Under waving wind, rushing rain and stroking sun, her
fairy-tale becomes a burden.
The dreaded whisper of comfort, vanished in
the dark anxiety of doubt,
As the dame’s desire was combusted, confined and
spent out,
In the massive shadows of obscurity, love convexes into the
elegy,
Inflaming constantly within her shut vision, the knight’s
blasphemy.
The entire times hence proclaimed unvoiced tranquil and
cheerless delight,
Within the mirror reflects of her monotony and verses of
womanhood’s flight,
Contented indeed in love was her impaired soul, that up
groomed,
Solemn in fact was she, for this love seemed doomed.
By
( Smita Dey Tarafder )
