By Amit Chatterjee
An inward voice shakes
Every corner of a countenance
And every cell emanates one cosmic dynamism.
Deep inside consciousness
When insurgent feelings
Merge, unmerge, swap and overflow,
Wrestle and get entangled and leave
Mangled remains of elementary spirits
And a perplexed, convulsed, distorted vision of reality,
That one voice connects
A rhythm of sense,
A feeling of one.
With gales that traverse the sphere,
With sparks that adorn the firmament,
With channels that descend from the slants,
With waves that fade even with the edges,
That sound communicates
The less traveled ways of accord.
It vibrates, resonates, dictates, inspects and upsets
Every tissue, every pulse, every beat,
And places realization to a novel realm
Explodes a hurricane of serenity.
The sound has a shape
A specter drifting through ages
A shadow behind many aspirations
Pulsating alone in desolate caves
In untrodden highs
Very commonly known
Yet never stated well, known well, felt well
In undulating times
Mixed with peppers and cinnamons,
Mixed with sugar, with salt, with chilies, with lemon,
Mixed with all varieties of heat and cold,
The sound is felt inside
Seized as a straw
And makers of destiny are summoned.
A recurring monotone
An outlet of universe
Monosyllable of multi-verse
All-pervading, unbeginning, everlasting,
Deep syncing, intra spiraling, thirst infusing
That pains, relieves, calms and induces
Tranquility of generations –
And corporeal endeavors
Settle and rest and prepare and dive into that realm
To extract philology of life…