By Ashabari Bhaumik
As the ocean gulps down the boiling red beauty.
The sand holds the boatsman as he stares at the ruby.
Curiously blew the leaves, "How is he at peace?"
The fowls asked, "what is it that has made you freeze?"
"This very painting of my mother, even with flaws, flawless it is.
Granted I am a lengthy string to absorb this bliss."
"On some beat of my pump, I shall set to take in a fragment of the colours.
Witness the darkness and all its divine lovers."
"Speak to the corals and learn their miseries.
Sit inside the tombs and listen to the dead melodies."
"Lose myself in the knowledge of the trees.
Run into the dry, bounded yet the most free."
The dreams of the boatsman the fowls heard.
Watched how his desires made his eyes blurred.
At last spoke the bearer of the curious.
Its tone held depth, but far from furious.
"Oh my dear brother, your wishes have the spark which deserves applause.
But don't grow so blind that you are unable to pick the faults."
"Your boat, the only companion for this line of string.
The amount of fragments you wish, with that hole, it cannot bring."