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Posts Tagged ‘Biswajit’

If time was to settle or pause among the pristine powers,
A flute is enough to play and save through the breathing rocks.
What is madness, if can’t converse with the countable stars?
What air is of profit if doesn’t hold the soul that death mocks?

The treasure of our times will be those smiles that we record.
The pursuit of our passion if not inspire, then to what respite?
Awake! Here it stands stronger than we know anything else.
Listen! To This voice of yours that echoes love our heart tells.

Sometimes, it’s among those tired leaves where love wrote.
Sometimes, it’s among a thousand waves where soul floats.
What profit is our rhyme here, if not toss our ego for light.
A step, a breath, a story that awaits you on the bed this night.

Awake! Yet again, you will starve and feed, drink the thirst.
But Oh, never give up on those dreams that live in your heart.

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Hold this finger and lead me Oh Time
To that epitome of an unending love.
I will drop every wish that this being
Is burdened while walking over the grass
And tossing among leaves green to brown;
Every lip that lied to see their eyes turn gold,
Every hand that prayed to save its soul so cold.
Balance is a myth, justice rebels against its judge.

If I can stand, I will forever love and paint
The moment the soul longs, and to weave
Through the rivers, the dream for the ocean.
I will someday then reach that island of love,
Come to the shore, throw a pebble with smile
To send ripples to your heart, no matter how far.
It’s blessed to be mad than in reason die unknown.

We will when the time is gone, stand like rock
Among these tides to love more and live forever.

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Among these sun-filled eyes and dust kissed lips
There’s a tale of a tempest that madness whips.
Hand to hand trusts too with a heart holding love
While there are scattered visions of unending hope.
Among these decrepit steps of this temple of faith
We will not gaze deep into the sculptures of science,
But more at the art rising in the distant horizon.

There stand these visions we had like our fathers
Of all generations who hold their child’s finger
To lead through, to greet all and to bid farewell
When done enough with time and tests of life.
Faith is a great magic, holds the breath of ours
When in need and let go when we are set to sail.
Time echoes, the time we live forever and ever.

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And we judged the play with our pestered intellect,
But not with the heart that beats through time.
One dream dies, one more is born, a dream we live.
Among propelling prophecies of sultry stones so straight,
There surely will be foliage that will grow and rhyme;
What seeds we sowed, how we watered and hope give
more wings for the dream to lives so more abject,
and undaunted by the flickering thoughts of our race.

Leave now, drop the thought that burns your soul.
Not timid at all, nor meaningless the pursuit is;
Every King dies, every empire falls, victory will brawl
Amid changing thoughts that push the other piece.
The sky is vast, it ought to be for so many dreams
Trade through it, some sail, some wait for the wind.
Walk every step with trust, breathe the air of freedom.
Let every touch heal and smile more till we are home.

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Inked in Love

Sometimes our breath is the greatest song,
That ears will not hear, but the heart will lend.
Drops of our tear and smiles will more belong
To the dreams of life cast now on a stones end.
Lips smearing among the seduced air of this land
I often revoked and retired from thoughts of you.
But I stand an inch taller, an acre more green
Every time someone says it’s love and it’s true.

I know the nights, I live that dream, and I still play
The same flute among the cold wind and still play
To cross the clouds in the dark to say I love you!
Let peace find you and time leave you alone in grey
To mould into apparitions of our most innocent day
And night filled with stars say with smile, I love you.

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What amateur beats in the heart of this holy fire?
Only feathers burn beleaguered in the prism of time.
The wind that shines with this shivering soul
Flies far to those distant memories and rhyme,
Restless, reared wretches of the ruptured goal.

What ink does this vein blow with so much hatred?
So much in itself, so much making moments mourn.

The Swans now sail among the whiteness of the moon,
Among the coldness of the calm uncounted morning.
What blindness has these generations brought so soon?
Our soul doesn’t hold the wealth we gathered in living.
There is this breath that goes so deep, so much making
The vision blurred and ears yearning to true love’s tune.

We are the immortals, only we know when we leave.
We are the smiles we see, we are all that we give.

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The Moment

To be born is a mirror of the possibility to be reborn.
We conquer not cadence, but the silence of our soul
With unheard attempts of love among sails now so torn;
What legend shall these oaks sing, what wood to burn?
Among intrepid torrents of desolate wind there’s madness
Of the soul, there is passion in every passing vision.

We are the story we tell, we are the music we play;
We are not idols of cold stone, but a dream of clay
In every child’s soft hands who will be born again
Among journeying times, through the heat and rain.
We will meet again and will talk those moments lived;
The blue sky, green fields and the dreams we believed.

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