at the very beginning my eyes are driven to the labyrinth of seven starts an intangible grace walks around a tree of berries depicted in my eyes in paints of the whirlwind a baul sings for me in my yard miles of winding crop-lands a prolonged barganining in the grinder-like mind frogs’ afternoon-chorus in the rain-soaked field a group of labouring with warmth I pick on palms the face uttering flowery words in a playful mood, in the light of drenched moon I pour some liquid then like a hungry a blanket of clouds I shiver in cold very bitterly though I don’t have any still my soul is not meaningless becoming a root and making myself connected to roots and to my forefathers and offsprings I am a bridge a river flow and at last a phoenix and I really know that on behalf of me as my substitute some one will come to the world to do some works of promises a to party one more information all trees know that it never has gone to any debate on environment all attempts of composing hospital from line to line end in producing only run-on-lines here we have no halt for a few moments at least once in life the lure of becoming truthful overwhelmes us beware of imitation this warning left aside makes us forget if it is a Sunday or all clothings like grateful to the meterological offices traditional forecasts and sharp when clothings later change smoothly all inscriptions about hospital seem to be cruelly incomplete and the throng of pale rickety children around the child specialists or the narrowing distance between the labour-rooms and the morgues disposable syringes get distinctly printed in row of lines in this tube town from this corner to that I am a weary soul encircled by lifes impetuous seas and all around from the lamppost top the bird starts winging for the horizon all at once a number of music notations enter the very heart of the singer no birds on our way up and down not even a stripe of sea beach still we can catch the music of a male cuckoo sitting on an invisible branch of a tree a wrecked soul comes out of its songs those who comprehend know those who know see and those who see realize thus the planet moves round dreams of bright days play on the violin of union of race a pervading shiver in the body the soul utters in its every beat the final dream such utterence and music of our soul will never cease to exist as many times as possible I try to juxtapose the place of love and the singer but on each occasion some sort of chaos come to reign the palace collapses to pieces to pieces all on a sudden out of the music emergfes a dream cottage on entering which it comes to ones notice that four walls are made of music notations whenever you shake the walls with your two hands colourful showers initiate the afternoons to nostalgic adolescence when the shadow of light starts moving to and fro on the bank of the seas of beauty waves of light get unruly the agony of in the ghusty wind the world does not know how to love yet we love the world and it is no fault and so we build up cottages on the crumbling banks and unlimited hope awakens in us, again have you seen ever a river lying on another submerged into some cold waiting it seems to be a wrong those marks wait under ilas fading memories the local? ? ? is yet to come every outing is a profound retuning to the colse vicinity of a few words and see every word is a pat of a bridge me I slip on mossy floor sometimes I hand like a water colour painting from a huge nail ignorant so I like desperately to fire the pent up agony I take some telephonic help to ascertain the distance of from here after reeving due information I now ponder over the dos of mine thereafter arranging the lines fof poem I concentrate on a religious ballad and prepare a dissertation on a note worthy ape and dedicate it to the madcap then he overwhelms me with his appreciating observation that the composition is very truly wonderful soul compartments have turned to be a campus no cobweb any more exists in depth of my heart a flame of symphony in it flesh nothing falls short of any thing only some want for human souls looms large here a piece of shore among fairy tales of thousand to be sung flutterings of leaves prepared myself a doe in a cage I dive in the forest after silent rituals on embracing your neck a santal fold tune emerges out and skilled body easily moves mahua flowers fall thick do the birds calllikewise in the gajan-fair of fullmoon tearing who speaks behag or iman in the package of darkness before full comprehension hands fall off from the neck movements stops and a moving in our hole again the arrow struck bird will not sing any more even a child knows this truth yet to narrate it anew and to present it with equal jest is the great duty of it is a simple job to her it is her natural ability to inject music notations to human blood written by butterflies of songs on the flowers but theres a good news any one can easily lie on sandalcot to kill agony of separation in a lonely night the small poem I sent didn’t contain the word postscript now while sending my research paper on kitchen I am using signifier although my conscience is not prepared to give room to stories of our aged city or of boat rides or of moral turpitude there in its vacancy rather here again I engrave the fables of our web tangled living of fog emiting friendship and of how we break into unavoidable certainties or signs plato had no lady love he would offer his disciples a handful of fire wind sown truth earth conceiling life in our republic smart bike youths read easily platonic love from the web sites of wind seven colours of the silent lamp smashing the heavy fog a dew fires some fire stones and the man then calm, upright and sharp people clap to see a crow’s skill in construction, a love bed strong self pride moving in the wind getting warmer in the slanting rays getting drenched to the skin yet looked at the cuckoo self confident tidbits thinking of love this birth, cultivation of life this determination the parting of hair of the girl suffering for becomes soft gradually with the words, which remains left an ambulance in the gurn of a hill route a zigzac of strong light receeds a sanatorium in the distance on birthday a rubber ball writes an epitaph otherwise it jumbs and frets too much done a pull of two poles tears the garland wearing afternoon a man is seated shephali flowers fall from his back grey twilight bursts into pieces a golden fire jumps to sink now its night have wasted the morning of my life according to my whims so now I dont have earnings or its ways when the evening settles down I place the stars to my sweet will no taste in love any more so I keep my shadow a witness darkness around why the dream riseup broken with trees uprooted your coutenance a black stone churned out of the river bed my cargo capsized in yesterdays spate here you like blind beggars are waiting for me waiting eagerly for a wisp of new drops of lifes dreams are now roaming in my apartment but my two feet stand still the sun as red as the forest flame falls off on the rivers estuary and the bemused crow gets warmth from it moves towards the horizon to another seeks peace of living its cawing lingers all over the landscape