Posted by: Ron DuBour | November 7, 2017





Knocking at nostrils
wintry winds wait for signals
from an untimely fainted soul
with profoundly structured hopes
to truck it to the world beyond imaginations.

Peeping outside
the subconscious soul stoops
to touch and inhale the sweet smell of the soil
to grace and deepen its attachment to the creations
of the beautifully active hands that it strengthens all the time.

A fear psychosis
tries to weaken its strong will
to subjugate the whole coins of energy
to capture the power over the innocent identities
that can torture their own shadows walking behind them
believing them to be the devil’s representatives in broad day light

No savior strengthens it
to face the winds with courage though
a voice from inside reminds it of its origin home
and it gathers its ultimate power to thrush them back
to a thousand miles away from its ever unstable nostrils.

It often faints
to see the fixed motions of the soil
that grows it day and night with care
though its unstable beholder never feel them
and now, it faces the cruelty of time’s firm commands
bowing naturally down to the season’s familiar fourth pillar .

Copyright@Bipul Ch. Kalita , 07/10/2016

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