ରିମଝିମ ବର୍ଷାର ଆଲୋଡିତ ଆଢୁଆଳରେ,
କଲମ ସ୍ୟାହିର ବିଚ୍ଛୁରିତ ରେଖାସବୁ ମଧ୍ୟରେ,
ଶୁଣେ ମୁଁ ସେଦିନର ଧକଧକ ଛାତିର କମ୍ପନ,
ଖୋଜେ ମୁଁ ପୁଣି ତୁମ ନୟନର ଅକୁହା କବିତା,
ଭୋକିଲା ମୁଁ ତୁମ ସ୍ପର୍ଶର, ତୁମ ଗ୍ରୀଷ୍ମ ଆଲିଙ୍ଗନର,
ହଜିଯାଏ ମୁଁ ପୁଣି ତୁମ ହାତଲେଖା ଚିଠି ମଧ୍ୟରେ,
ଚୋରେଇ ଆଣିବି କି ତୁମକୁ ପୁଣି ମୋ ପାଖକୁ,
ଲୋତକ ମୋ ମୃତ ପ୍ରାୟ, ସେଇ ଟିକିଏ ଅନ୍ଧାରେ।
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DEATH IS JUST A POEM AWAY
i write poems of lust and pain
and make them read all of the syllables;
the people i hate.
some call it beautiful,
some need awkward modifications
but what they don't know
is the poem will ring in their nerves
as the nights go deep and dark
and squeeze all their blood and breaths
out of all the canals and lungs.
i'd be smiling sitting on my couch
thinking of the slow death grasping them
and after all descends to an end
i'll wake up to my table
to write a poem; anew and virgin.
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I've two stars painted on my chest
Some three inches apart.
One of your name and another of mine.
You lay close to my beats,
I swell close to my beaths
We try joining our hands, but we fail.
Again and again.
And months later we die;
You with the beats to live in heaven
I with the air the space lacks in.
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