Posted by: Ron DuBour | October 30, 2014

Passions~by DrRatan Bhattacharjee




An ocean with its foamy white
throbbed inside me
you had been on a highroad of passions
when Oleander
blooms on the lea.

A woman is not a gallery for exhibits
stereo type chats and words
if a mind is dry like a summer pond
romantic cobwebs are
demolished by swords.

All things are possible
in a closed stuffy room
fragile aspirations with their cyclical
coming and going
love seems to be creamy mushroom.

When passions are pent up
like the mythical giant
in the bottle
wishes , dreams, unspoken words
move on in slow postures
like cattle.

Forget togetherness
forget revelries of midnight
in stolen moments all azure
when men become child
in the orgy of pleasure.

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