New Year Poem - (2020)(Nostalgia) Poem by Prabir Gayen

New Year Poem
(2019)
(Nostalgia)

Ways of life are full of dirt,
Emotions are deeply false,
The nurturing womb of unreal faces and uncharted dreams.

Change however false is painful,
Every change in it is lost the living,
Living is the boiling water of life,
Sweet songs lose its warmth and Joy of living is a mindful dreaming.

Life is always an oblivious tune with beautiful trash,
so sweet to think with throbbing being,
Our souls are the mirrors,
the past is inscribed with panting passion.

The air and the Murmurous breeze pregnant with unfulfilled dreams,
the choir of life full of colourful flowers and their fragrance,
The songs of bygone poets ring with historical vim only to pass through loaded mind.

Like the cooing of a newborn birdie,
the exasperating breath of a bud to bloom without cause,
The song that was sung and heard without traces vanished into the plethoric sea of oblivion.

Only the fulsome retention,
lived and Unlived, pierces the Being,
The fragrance from breathing flowers,
lost in the air often and on,
on behalf of Nature,
like recess of death's omnipotent stature.

From virgin nook of my unattained soul visits to take into the catacomb of boyhood Love,
The fragrance of divine Love with the storm of emotive holiness,
With unuttered ache Now unspoken calmness withers,
The year is shedding and the shadow is falling like the fallen leaves.

Years after years Time is ripening
With no flavour of movement,
The green tree is unmoved by change,
Change is a great sense of fictitious sorrow,
New year is a celebration of departed dreams and Enthronement of waned mind,
Building a citadel of flamboyant trance.

Past is dead and it is dead in a way to make an upsurge of hurtful nous in the living present,
Present is a canopy of puerile song,
A discontinued continuation of a bemused mind.

A new year is not a new born baby,
Nor the grace on the part of time,
Like a bell it comes to knock on
our partial Beings lost in the sweet memories of bygone breath.

Life is a pond of multiple waves,
Underneath an unfathomable aura of deep-felt faces of friends and sweet, visiting bouquet of visitants.

The Rising sun and the Crescent Moon,
The fragrance of cow dung and the choir of gnat from backdoor of wavy lea,
The slow flow of water with the slow-moving Cattles at sundown,
The otiose and Unoccupied form of life yet not footless,
It was a meditative fullness with throbbing gristle of Love.

New is lovely with aged soul,
Celestial with gross mind,
With celebration dawns with the fragrance of joy like meeting
The mind into its being,
Nothing with nothingness,
Embracing life with totality of widened consciousness,
On the bright sepulchre a wreath of infinite hopes,
From the lap of Mother to the warm caress of soulful progeny.

@Prabir Gayen _ 8: 48 PM _ 24 November,2019.