To Eleutheria – Dr. Gaurav Deka, Assam

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The water rose on the painted faces,

The bottled stars smiled their grace,

The angst of the waning moon

Fills my demon heart.

With maddening violins upon the frills –

The skirting circle of the damsel’s dress,

Fried the netted tassel of my Chinese bell.

And the serpentining night

Diffused the fading flowers,

Rich to blossom rich to die.

There you threw my heart

To pant in the Woolf’s weeded soul,

And there it grew with a rage

Like some green ancient dragon
upon the golden skies.

Love was like decaying hairs

Spread upon the mad poet’s grave.

All that carbon memories

Wreathed in old dying wine,

To throw a few sad tunes

I am not the one you think me to be.

For fire-flame and mountain mist

All to consume,

To be one and many

To be like a folded star,

Upon those speaking landscapes.

Your body and mind

Twisted among the red autumn leaves.

For I let you scatter,

Under the weeping bridge

Where unicorns meet the burning moon.

And there you stay like a hostile thought

Growing faces to consume

For my heart is crossed

With circe’s totem

Coiling around my brown neck.

Ivory memories-you claim it there

To breed like haunted wingless birds.

And I swim beyond the poppy fields

To be one with the virgin moon and stars

To sleep and burst

Those smoky poisonous rings of your tell tale heart.

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