From childhood's hour I have not been
As others were; I have not seen
As others saw; I could not bring
My passions from a common spring.
From the same source I have not taken
My sorrow; I could not awaken
My heart to joy at the same tone;
And all I loved, I loved alone.
Then- in my childhood, in the dawn
Of a most stormy life- was drawn
......
If I rest for a moment near The Equestrian
pausing for a liver sausage sandwich in the Mayflower Shoppe,
that angel seems to be leading the horse into Bergdorf's
and I am naked as a table cloth, my nerves humming.
Close to the fear of war and the stars which have disappeared.
I have in my hands only 35c, it's so meaningless to eat!
and gusts of water spray over the basins of leaves
like the hammers of a glass pianoforte. If I seem to you
to have lavender lips under the leaves of the world,
I must tighten my belt.
......
The wild duck startles like a sudden thought,
And heron slow as if it might be caught.
The flopping crows on weary wings go by
And grey beard jackdaws noising as they fly.
The crowds of starnels whizz and hurry by,
And darken like a clod the evening sky.
The larks like thunder rise and suthy round,
Then drop and nestle in the stubble ground.
The wild swan hurries hight and noises loud
With white neck peering to the evening clowd.
......
People often walk on that pathway of gold,
Where sunlit yellow leaves are joy manifold.
Natural pleasures draw crowds back always,
To view the painted alley, like in days of old.
The path is lovely, in sun phase or moonlight-
When the vocal night birds steal its limelight.
Fall plunges one in color, beneath deep blue,
And it's a beautiful course, noon or midnight.
Wreathe in a garland the corn's golden ear!
With it, the Cyane blue intertwine
Rapture must render each glance bright and clear,
For the great queen is approaching her shrine,--
She who compels lawless passions to cease,
Who to link man with his fellow has come,
And into firm habitations of peace
Changed the rude tents' ever-wandering home.
Shyly in the mountain-cleft
......
In spring, the colors twirl with light,
but softened blues evade my sight.
The blooms, they hover, paint the air,
as my world's palette begins to wear.
Hues of the sky and a lazy stream,
once so vivid, now a fading dream.
The vibrant greens dance in the trees,
and for me, they blur to hazy seas.
......
Red and yellow, purple and brown, orange and green,
a kaleidoscope of colours in glorious Sheen
and throughout that panoramic landscape scene
a palette of autumn colours could be seen
Each leaf was adorned with itsβ seasonal hue
splendidly dressed as it sprang into our view
awaiting the right time to fall to the ground,
where kids could have fun kicking them around.
I was a productive, proficient painter, long captivated by the manifold colors,
An infinite parade of hues and intensities, like tales of a thousand summers.
I worked daily at this irresistible passion, which made long, golden hours fly,
As sun stains skies in its final burst of passion, prior to a pretty day going by.
My creative work was quite rewarding, granting such joys of self expression,
Like rare pearl thrills often derived, from fragrant, dusky moonlight sessions.
Faithful spring faded, with fond memories of buds, when friends came to call,
......
Rich
colors
fly away
Southbound birds too
Lovely November
of lonely skies
pink clouds glide
Sun sinks
rich
From the silver sky
The autumnal dawn splashes
Our sleeping green earth
-November 01, 2023
Chattogram