RESURRECTION

Noble thy soul! As thou be the summer's rain,
Falling from the dark nebules of ire.
I bathe in thy drops as I lie still dreaming vain,
Of faded vanity and frail fangs of soaring desire.
Luscious lips around still piffle insane,
Of thirst and lust and concupiscent fire.

Sultry breasts laid yearning since yore,
Arid of hazel kisses and cold night stars.
Trembling and quivering; if not more,
With secrets bright as grave old scars.
I carry 'em miles and till the shore,
Of burned lands and a sea of curse.

Deep down there's a world that's dark,
And darkness spreads thru' lands and skies.
I'm entrapped as a tiny mark,
Of frail bleak glows of dead fireflies.
And as the tale of phoenix I hark,
I dream good lands with wizened eyes.

'Twas thy voice that came each hour,
And blest me happiness midst cold graves.
I saw thee firm as brawny bower,
And a leading crew in the world of braves.
In thine arms as all good flowers,
Set me free off stygian caves.

Pull my soul into thy immortal whole,
And I must bear thy fruits of care.
Not as a trull but a beloved soul,
Whose ruins were scattered all in air,
And all I had was a broken bowl,
That was bad and yearned repair.
© Dipanjan