The Last Point.

By Prantik Mandal

O what realm there quivers below? trembling me breathless!

Such holy blaze teeming above rabid air, ruthless.

On either side devoid of calm greenery;

‘Stead stroked with impetuous grey harmony.

High dread now fills my soul, over old obscure passion,

Vicissitudes my fate in some fine dying fashion,

And changes color of the deep lonely heart

From tender glowing red to dying grey dark.

Is it the Golden Dwarka of yore?

Of the lord when he fought no more,

Or is it the roaring ruddy lands of Lanka,

Flamed by the abject woes of Shimshipa?

Such my fate is not too great

Nor too great is my pristine state.

For this bleak emptiness afore my eyes

Naught but bellowing my bleeding mind cries!

It is no rare dream for feels so palpable,

As the sunny sea enfolding lone sad gravel.

Is it fancy of my mind, hard and mean?

Showing me things no mortal ever seen.

Such a wondrous haze girdles me:

Holds me afloat, gently swathes me.

Sublime sensation seething sinuous grooves

Of the dim scars ancient as the sky; moves:

Healing with Sheens and bursting reaches over

Turning the dense dreary soul sober.

And Fermenting me over and over

Always to wander, always to hover.

Hark!

Piercing my heart wherefrom this clang released?

Some hungry folklore beasts coming to feast?

Or was it the knell of youth gone by,

Time to leave canon and meet the sky?

For some ominous presence can I feel,

Creeping closer as ugly as lithe eel.

Slowly it shackles my mind and moulds me,

And now it governs me, gives law and decree.

I struggled hard to get rid of this;

Over time and place heaving amiss.

But now I know what creature entered my ear,

For it was no apparition but my own fear!

Fear captured me, and then shackled by Own;

Told by them what to love what to condone.

So,

Now I drink milk of death’s reminiscence;

Still striving hard to taste its core essence.

Standing on this cliff, the precipice of the world,

I see the light yet leave my soft soul unfurled.

I pay no heed for that hoax of hope,

Nor in stony reality will I cope.

For sour dreams have I now scored

And to pale numbness am I betrothed.

Dreams oh dreams! My surreal sweet friends of old,

Wistful drops shall roll when this carnal I unhold.

Forget me not when I fall into the abyss below;

The colossal chasm allures with breath mellow.

Now pulls me down, cradles me in her bosom,

And I drop myself into wild gasping spasm!

Years past and winds gone by, far and rear;

Again a child walks here with thighs of fear.

With warying eyes it stretches and peers down,

And then surges up the wind and the loud sound.

Recounting the tales of many before with ire;

And then comes my turn, my story to be told:

There once was a man alone, dark and cold,

Not sought he for light but lighted himself on fire!

By Prantik Mandal