by Prabir Gayen
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Trembling deep my being for some unknown awe,
I know not what star has fallen furtive.
On the grass galore of stars of my mind.
A thousand petals peer inside my self.
Stretched immobile congealed interiority.
My mind locomotive and restlessly drowsy
With the thought of thoughtless brink of frothy am-ness,
Ancient and aged mass of silence reigns idly.
The deep delve of my heart shadowed by numberless pain,
buckles the light from empyrean shore.
In this lonesome aloneness I find myself
Clustered by careless elves.