The Psychic Drill. Poem by Subrata Ray

The Psychic Drill.

How then the ‘why’ revives,
In a romantic wheel,
With no solution of sudden tornado,
Upon a capsulated mind,
That had lagged behind,
To open the mystic corridor.

Why! Why! Why!
Cries the lyre,
Why such agony, as it is,
Without physical fire.
Such tease as imagination,
Executes reality!

Darling Blue, ; without blue’
Would you be a bar to my escape velocity,
By the missile of your gravitational pull,
And awaken the hidden volcano,
Capsize my barge in wave less sea,
When I am just near the harbour,
To mingle with my Mariner!

Your cosy hand with beacon-born music,
Puts the glory garland round my neck,
Your melodious tongue sings the paean,
On the meadow -ran passages of my poetry.

Were it written with divine –ink,
For such willow-mellow winking,
And save You, nothing thinking,
When the eastern sun in west sinking.