Black July Poem by Saroj Padhi

There is a silence at the depth of the soul
which mind can hardly fathom,
nor can reasoning reach out
to the root of its agony at the bottom
whose invisible shores elongate to infinity,
blotting out the vision of eternity;

the waves in the heart can partly apprehend
the texture of its undefined identity
that take on all attempts to glimpse its beauty;

fumes of discontent rise up into the sky
darkening the clouds of black July,
deaths galore surround this dying animal
and riches hardly can any happiness buy;

Inward I turn like a turtle to dive deep inside
to find the changing nature of self and time,
with a fragile protective shield against the virus
to brood over some lines of hope for you to rhyme.