Time Against Time Poem by Prabir Gayen

Time against Time

My life is somewhere lost
in the seed of time,
The womb of past,
In the womb of certain summer,
In the call of a certain Cuckoo,
It was summer and I was alone,
With my dreamy eyes I was lost,
The pain was just the baby,
I was alone and outside,
My future was like waves,
And I lost all my dreams,
Without dream past remains the past,
Adamant and never to leave me,
The petals without blossoming mangled,
The flower remains unmanifest,
Without blossoming I am with pain,
Maturing day by day with no root,
My pain is my failure, my death,
I died years ago without hope,
The hope of becoming was nipped,
Without the hope of living I live,
I live where no sign of life is left,
Only vague memory of life,
Nor life as such but the dream.
The song is there in nature,
The Cuckoo is still singing,
The Green Field is still harvesting,
The peace of the land is still singing,
The Joy of life is still flowing,
The projected dream about to bloom,
Is still a projection, the screen of my mind,
My being without hope is hoping
against my life,
The childhood is a fresh delight,
The dream of childhood is lost in hopes,
A bundle of sorrow is under the self,
Attaining not the feast of life with time,
Time is gone with the warmth of mind,
In the near past all is destroyed,
Decayed with the pain maturing day by day,
Only pain of not touching life,
It was very close to dive in,
Life is a vain waiting and hoping naught,
All hope is just dust of time,
Burnt with ceasing fire.
The road to life is blocked,
Only moving with faint delight,
Where there is no way to smile,
With the Sun rise I rise and with
setting I set,
With the night I remain awake,
Still still the spirit is missing,
The joy of living is no more joy,
Only wasting time with wrong time,
As an outsider I witness everything,
To be nothing is only rays of hope,
The indifference of the vast Sky,
The stars and the dark night are
My indifferent being, my fruitless self,
Thought upon thought and no Joy,
Past is the only time heavy on soul,
The seed unborn is hovering with the
songs of birds,
The pine for not responding to time,
The pain of not touching the spirit,
Only vague memory to die with Mind.

********************
@Prabir Gayen - 18/04/2019 - 11: 25 AM.