I simply love leaning on your poems

O poet!

It ignites the interplay

Of blue, red and white in my heart,

Setting free those hidden feelings.

 

Fondled by your poetry,

Readers find their past and present

Resonating in them.

Your poems are so freshening,

So liberating, so rejuvenating

That they throw a resplendent smile

On their faces, kindling a light

Of exotic pleasure,

Evidenced by your acts of love.

 

Your poems come as myriad colored jewels,

Bridging your heart to readers’ hearts,

Transcending language barriers,

Adorning them in dreams and reverie,

In worship and in wisdom,

And with your great compassionate mind,

You harbor them all,

The segregated, the sedated,

The worn-out, the disheveled,

Making their hearts

Never run out of tune,

By creating the chemistry

Of flint and steel.

 

Your poems speak of the blazing fire,

The fleeting embers, the desires,

The lovelorn cry of peacocks,

The owls in tree-hollows,

The transgressions against God’s laws,

The sighs of lovers,

The pains of separation,

The fresh Spring gales

And the Holy Grail.

 

Dear poet, I know you write with a pen

And yet, the mystery of

Your powerful pen remains unraveled.

When I think of your pen,

With neither flaw nor fault,

Something deep inside me

Humming a sweet rhapsody, tells me

Your pen writes not with ink,

It writes with your blood—-

For ink is for the conscious mind,

Blood is for the unconscious mind,

And great poets,like you

Write with the unconscious mind.

 

pramila khadun