Season in the glens of dappled shadow and light,
Happiness trying to break through evety canopy like a caged feline
Cannot stop the slow death march
Fashioned by the hands of a love
That has already consumed this heart
More than it ever can be a crass passion-
And send it on the way to its vast destination
Separated from this thick dimension only by a thin portal
Through which rays of light already enter
From that Beyond
Which is but one with the heart,
Just like the haunting smile of the one
Who is the Ganymede gentlest among mortals,
But is hidden, only from the eyes.

It is called fishing in the swamp
This hide-and-seek of affection and how- much- it- is -hidden,
Like matted reeds rising through
Clear waters rising through blue sky and dappled clouds
With names of dear hearts engraved on them in silver.
Crass ness is often combined with the finest music
On this Earth
And so it is that the things that remain
Beyond the tongues of mortals
May yet tiptoe on my heart
While I am fishing in the Swamp, my present home.
(completed 2006, published here today first time.
For more of my work, including my poetry ,search under author name Biswadeep Banerjee at Amazon.com, e-books)
© Biswadeep Banerjee