Poetry – Suchetana Biswas

To my Dolor

I took a sip of the crocus’s juice , these taste buds craves some spring hence
My dry, dry lips and my retina that waits for the sick light to strike in
All my anxieties increased the toxicity in the moon beams of my night
Yet I don’t want to die , my sick skin craves some sweet sensuousness.
I gaze at the winter’s unfair and pale moon for million hours or so ,
My eyes are at it’s verge of doom, I see mirage and I run after it like lunatic
As I crave some good serenity , and some philter or tonic , for dead eyes and grey hairs ,
Though my skin and body absorbed all venom, yet I don’t want to die .
I gaze at that scarlet clouds ‘bout to bring down the rain , death-dealing probably
And at the small female’s soul , abhorred the December’s breaths ,
Sweet part she missed maybe , yet died with all pain whereby.
Bad healing arts for my ill lungs and infected ears , these pains haunted me since my first autumn
Eighteen autumns have past , nineteen springs and my body is still laid up with bad diseases
I trusted fool’s gold , I fell sick again. How deific is the smell of Cape Jasmine?
No trust’s scent , thought they’d give me million drops of honey to drink
I trusted fool’s gold, I’m drowning in hemlock’s ocean.
Spring’s shine I fell in love with , but it’s voice drowned out in the thunder
And here I am laying empty and cold.
To you I say, o dear- I still can feel the passion for your erotic voice,
Hands and naïve wide eyes , o my man!
So much perfect are your symmetries , and your perfume and your hair
And you trap me , trap me into – Your depth in eyes ,
Your skin , smooth as sapphire’s beam and bars of dawn’s sunray.
Yet somehow the grief’s cloud remained ;
And life’s beauty disappeared behind ; here I saw nothing
But just unblessed downpour and sand in my dream.
Sick of that delusive California breezes ; or that easy lavender blue
Baneful tidal flow , deathless pain flooded in
I’m asphyxiated by city fumes and my dolor.
This world never promised me an easeful life
Or soft night bed ; never desired to skip all odd Octobers —-
No thirst for vintage French wine.
Just had a yen to drink the pure milk
I see dripping from moon’s skin, divine and immortal!
Wished fair morn; fresh pansy to comfort my lungs a little
Star glints , I see the night sky kissed by the true spring air
They gushed over romance they had , ballet on my window
serene winter I stepped in ; admired the gracious snow moon
Admired grace of the January born beauty
I see , I hear only the wailful roar of the moana ;
Brought me unending blue melancholia
I –drowned my wan body in anguish.
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