1.바카라 웹사이트바카라 웹사이트 바카라 웹사이트Gaps In Our Existence
Somewhere, not in our absence,
but in the gaps of our existence—
like the beauty that flows from the soul of the morning,
her invisible, mysterious womb.
The sparkle of the stars alive in the night,
and in my eyes upon your eyes
for the dark has no language of reflections,
no way of telling us all the beauty and the hurt
that we escaped while we were away,
till everything dissolves and the light arrives.
Somewhere, when we were toiling hard
and our blood and flesh were spent in copper coins,
to break open the ground and tear apart the sky,
that is when the seeds were sown and lovingly watered
by our invisible hands that we did not know about,
leaving a trail of flowerbeds, floating into the sky.
2.바카라 웹사이트바카라 웹사이트 바카라 웹사이트Truth of Stones
You sit in silence and contemplate
the nature of inanimate things.
Slowly you become an empty shell.
Two spaces flow toward each other—
where they merge, you dissolve and cease.
There is a new way of being
when you become one with inanimate things.
The stone and its shadow are sentient too.
When you speak to the stone
you hear your voice in a new and fresh way
till the monologue becomes dreary바카라 웹사이트
and grows on you like an insipid sheath.
You fall quiet and two silences flow into each other,
you become one with the stone.
You watch the transient life of a stone's shadow.
How its contours and its depth of darkness change,
it moves toward the end and does not fight the light.
You close your eyes and see two lights바카라 웹사이트
immerse into each other.
You and a stone and its shadow come alive together.
3.바카라 웹사이트바카라 웹사이트 바카라 웹사이트Directions
A trail of mud or cobblestone print manifests a path.바카라 웹사이트
There are no clues and signposts along the way—
I must.
We have no questions left to live—
so, listen (perhaps) to new lyrics.
Listen to an eye wide open in time
that reflects a stream of infinite mime.
We have miniature worlds within us like secret organs.바카라 웹사이트
A compass conjures bizarre stories바카라 웹사이트
of sheer insanity and charts us.바카라 웹사이트
A riddle inherited from elders
grows old again and weeps for love.
An instrument tries to play itself after it is too late.바카라 웹사이트
The song is dead and ancient,바카라 웹사이트
and there is no craftsman alive.바카라 웹사이트
The world is expanding around us
and we are absorbed.
At crossroads, we stop and ask for directions—
we courtesy and we nod at fellow pilgrims.
We do not look behind, and like you,
I point at emptiness ahead with a prayer.
4.바카라 웹사이트바카라 웹사이트 바카라 웹사이트Becoming Human
Don't heap shame on me to build fertile ground
for worms to build residences of fine capillaries
slow-eating through me.
Don’t find me absurd for holding a miniature heaven
in clenched fists, between clenched teeth,바카라 웹사이트
and for asking you with last exhalation—
With hands stretching in eerie hope toward you,
if you would help me to become human, partially,
even a minuscule of what we can be.
Don't count me as bones and flesh and organs,
or as a measure of blood and fluids that flow,바카라 웹사이트
or a bag held in skin that aerates and multiplies.
Don't map me in genetic codes and state statistics,
or as a point in a fine line drawn as lineage through history.
I cannot become on my own what I want to be—
only you can help me to become Human, partially.
5.바카라 웹사이트바카라 웹사이트 바카라 웹사이트Against Walls
Against walls—the imprints of seasons,
the diffused warmth of dawn,바카라 웹사이트
and a lament earthbound바카라 웹사이트
as it slides down the brick form.
The arrival of autumn-light late in life바카라 웹사이트
with a revealing slant바카라 웹사이트
and its fanfare in burst of colours바카라 웹사이트
from leaves fallen on the ground.
Against walls—the gusts of wind바카라 웹사이트
and pleasure of drizzle,바카라 웹사이트
the home of vine and hearth of lichen,
the coarse texture of sand and salt바카라 웹사이트
and their silent abrasions on the wall.
Holding hands and arching nape,
leaning in to find remnants of strength,바카라 웹사이트
against walls—leaving behind
fusion of memories, bricks and life,
leading to the birth of shade.
6.바카라 웹사이트바카라 웹사이트 바카라 웹사이트Again, it is Dusk
Again, it is dusk—
an instant of golden skin and translucence
an ascension of silence and sprawling emptiness
amplified through us.
A sudden collapse of boundaries,
expansion of the surroundings into time and space
바카라 웹사이트바카라 웹사이트 바카라 웹사이트beyond the 'self',
바카라 웹사이트바카라 웹사이트 바카라 웹사이트beyond the present,
바카라 웹사이트바카라 웹사이트 바카라 웹사이트beyond history and death.
Again, it is dusk—
the hour of finding, the hour of soaking in
바카라 웹사이트바카라 웹사이트 바카라 웹사이트without joy and grief,
바카라 웹사이트바카라 웹사이트 바카라 웹사이트without knowing anything,
바카라 웹사이트바카라 웹사이트 바카라 웹사이트without wanting to know anything.
An unexplained trembling
how infinitesimal and momentary we are;바카라 웹사이트
how infinite and deathless too.
Holding your own self바카라 웹사이트
and seating yourself inside your body,바카라 웹사이트
바카라 웹사이트바카라 웹사이트 바카라 웹사이트watching this world,
바카라 웹사이트바카라 웹사이트 바카라 웹사이트watching this tranquillity,
바카라 웹사이트바카라 웹사이트 바카라 웹사이트watching this nothingness of self—
Crying, perhaps crying, for many lives.
Longing, perhaps longing, for many lives.
Loving, perhaps loving, for many lives.
Poet bio
Madhu Kailas is the pen name of Kingshuk Basu. He is a native of Kolkata, India and has lived in various places in India and USA. He is the author of two poetry selections, ‘The Birds Fly in Silence’, 2014 by Writer라이브 바카라 Workshop Kolkata and ‘The Boatman of Murshidabad’, 2021 by Aleph Book Company. He has been published in journals like Indian Literature, The Amistad, Acumen, Slippery Elm, The Gateway Review, Plainsongs Poetry Magazine, The Bosphorus Book Review, The Marathon Literary Review, Dragon Poet Review, New Mexico Review, Sutterville Review, The Punch Magazine, ‘Converse’ – an anthology of 75 years of Indian poetry in English, The Literary Voyage, and Langlit. He lives with his wife and children in Mumbai.
