PAINT BRUSH by Bhaskar Mitra

8/28/2004

The smoothest stroke of the brush of time;
The first one, on the empty canvas that life I call;
Like a note breaking silence long
That all hearing hearts do enthrall.

Like the speeding steed by the name of time
Caught in the moment to stand and pause;
Like a flying arrow piercing hearts
So for its hiatus it can give a probable cause.

The second stroke, like a disciple good,
The first one it does follow.
Like the second note of a commencing song
Destined to fill all hearts, hollow.

Like the second line of a poem sweet
That, with the first, rhymes so good.
Like two birds on the branch of a tree
Or in a crib laying two new-born brood.

Following these is more of the same;
Splattering colors on a face so blank;
Mottled multihued like a butterfly’s wings
As it spreads gently on the middle and the flank.

Like a sweet poem taking birth
Of lines that just seems to rhyme so well;
Like a heart rupturing in passion inside
And colors returning to a face, so pale.

And within moments few, another of
The lord’s divine creation takes its place;
Creation that of the creator so highly speaks
So simple but beautiful none the less.

A life I had, even before,
But it was like a page so white;
Like a sleep that has no dream
Or like the dark starless night.

Like a song that sounds not well,
And like a poem whose lines won’t rhyme,
Like an ocean whose waves won’t break
Or a thought completely stopped in time.

If life was a song, then you are the one
Who a harmonious tune to it did add;
The colors of my life is what you are
The sweetest friend I have ever had.

MISS YOU by Bhaskar Mitra

2/11/2005

Silence slumbers in its futile sleep,
And the rest of the world sleeps with it, too;
But I can’t close my eyes, my Angel,
Because I lie so far away from you.

I close my eyes and there you are,
But when I open my eyes, you elude them;
Come to me, my image sweet, why do you,
With my eyes, play such a cruel game?

When I am well you run away, always;
Come now at least to my side.
Promise, I shall be a nice boy,
And to all your rules shall abide

Touch you not, bug you never,
Just witness your divine smiles of joy;
You be the princess in the palanquin,
I’ll be the admiring roadside beggar boy.

Your voice is all that I get to hear nowadays,
The reasons of which I very well know;
But a hundred reasons shall always be there
To stop us both from together old to grow.

Smile one time, then again, and then one more time;
Laugh out loud; and forever shine like a brilliant star;
Because you are the only dream that my eyes can see,
Wherever I may be, and wherever you are.

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PAINT BRUSH by Bhaskar Mitra

MISS YOU by Bhaskar Mitra