Grave Series Poem by Prabir Gayen

Grave series____6

- -Reformation- -

Agile wind with unruly passion over the grave,
Roving with hearts heavy the residents of necropolis.
Grave shifts as fair place, restless breeze palanquin.

From the sky peer the stars and curious
Minds.
Like horrid crew of strange attire the dead appears.
With magic velocity of thirty eyes queue they make.
Eager to come and reformation to dawn,
On earthly plain that didst they leave behind them unsolved.

Like leaves floating dry on the breast of river lost,
Like bubble's surge filled with torpid joy of ocean.
They made presenth of themself before sermon hall,
The priest ghost from goofy island takes dimmish mythical book.

Leaves after leaves turns he the provisions of retreat, and then overturning his eyes and drawing deep breath,
He saith, ' why havest thou called me out of season, and stir my heart with thought of untimely death.'

'We want to turn around the world and reborn,
reform the soil and soul once pure, upright, '
Saith with melancholy the morbid dead men's party.
'Hovering I between two of the worlds and pain,
Watching my heart, my earthly daughter hungry and oppressed, ' saith a tormented father killed brutally on road.

A priest wast I and dreamer to build a new world, a place of heaven of amaranth bower,
Where heart will build a world in yard of mind,
We will go and decree absolute reign supreme,
better to serve in hell than idle joy in heaven.

Sweeping the outer part of the grave a sad face, desirous to mould and reform the same
Stands in front.

A poet and a sprite died a couple of days ago,
Anxious to meet his damsel dear and fear of,
the necromancy that might rouse in her heart, and turns away from him his sole soul of soul.

A party of departed souls assembles there to come,
Seek permission to cross the fence with new oracle.

A horse and only a horse for my kingdom,
Pronounces a knight who wast killed In deep sleep, and after a prolonged period of sleep,
he declares a battlefield and crossing the bone- yard, and memorising Golgotha he cries.

A religious teacher with repentant heart comes, from hard stone where he wast chained with penal fire,
churned with the gulf of fiery deluge delivers his speech,
With whispering voice and inaudible incantation, he begs mercy for wrong knowledge he taught.
With new dress and mannerless manner and innocent eyes, he seems eager to love and embrace the world, once he betrayed for his bosom's interest.

The moon is on her glory over white canopy,
The twinkle of little stars cluster around,
The howling from thick bush deepens the silence,
from a macabre cell a macrocephalus appears, Mephistophelian spirit of ancient Greek, sailing across tomb from thousand years, sucking darkness of night before temple of God, he vanishes into foggy trunk of black boscage.

With heart thousand of strings tumble over the glum, a sepulchre for deadly rest where walkest straight, away from tomb's nauseated gull wings a half drowsy soul.
A poet, a painter who lived in a place, solitary sordidness of self illumined ennui.
'Give me a cup of coffee a toast with butter,
My pen though truant will react new verdict,
A constitution of heart will I build.'
Saying so and spinning thrice headlong he goes down, into boiling soil of infinite cool paunch.
Valorising the grave a Sedate and unruffled, a heart of a lover whose world was nothing but dream, the waste land and wreck havoc embosses his heart with numbness.
He pronounces the name of God and blesses his spirit,
With eyes tired of the dismal delay espies,
'A womb and a womb o Jesus for birth'_
He pleads from flaming cliffs of dove plant
and sighs.
A student died of injuries of love, avidity,
Abstracted from the present state searches his inamorata.
A mother suckling her baby died both, by hunger and poverty and welcomed here,
In grave's bountiful blessings and peaceful life,
In the procession they get prior notice to reborn,
Invocation from umbrageous in limbo,
Pierces the veil of ear drum of arbiter.

Sneering the kerfuffle from argumented , and
Inflamed plenary waned and their outcry,
The gownsman ascribes his ecclesiastical,
The canonical dictation to reborn, and on earth to reform man from impiety,
Hoping to choke with pure clop for ghostly prime, he rolling his eyes and turning head opens his wizardry,

All deceased souls eager to sail to mother's womb stand,
With great surprise and citable the turnskins pronounce, delight uttering ' Amen ' with the master and bath, with light celestial from heaven that Lucifer muffles.
On the shore of watercourse they stand to gain access into human flesh.