A blue bird sings by the bank of the Seine

The sonorous soundless silent silk she takes of off her beauteous
buxom sensuous fairy body very gently and very cautiously to take a
bath in the moonlit rill
Where lily and lotus play with the ripples sweet serene

The beauty beat
The beauty breathe
My one-horned Unicorn wag his love- lid
O how she eats him inch by inch
Like a black-hole in the space swallowing up the material immaterial

O my lovely loving nymph come to me, come to me
I’ve been waiting for you since the birth of Ganges, Rome, and Egypt

The mighty Sphinx upon the ageless desert dune stayeth still still
having witnessed the rise and fall of many a civilizations, sage,
saint, prophets virtuous, evil

A blue bird sings by the bank of Seine

She watches as the sky changes her hue from grey to pink, and from
pink to evening ink

The surreal blanket of Heaven is sparkling and twinkling with stars
As the hem of Heaven is about to come down in any minute to save her
soul from the dullness of the meaningless earthly meaning

O the blue bird sings the love songs of sleep

The last songs of the swans rippling through the waves of the
mountainous streams

The elusive sirens are singing upon the half-submerged rocks of the
stormy seas

The light-house distant guide the lost ship by the fog-piercing-ray of
his candle-burning iridescent stream

The shepherdess slowly steer homeward her flocks of slumberous sheep
as the dusk falls subtly sheepishly upon the roof-tops of her humble
village little tint

The tall thin date-palms with the gracious harvest calm of rich sweet
dates juicy and firm shed soothing shade of soulful balm above the
tired camel-herd

The oasis like a paradise glitter as a rare emerald beneath the iron-
hot, scorching desert sun

The blue bird of mystery still sings along by the bank of the more
mysterious river of watery latent lyrical lyrics learnt

Where is Helen, Cleopatra, Marilyn, Morrison, Nazrul,Tagore,Lalon



The Romanticists, the Metaphysical Poets, Homer, Ovid, Rumi, the
poets, playwrights who never had the chance to be known to be criticized

Some of who wrote the poems and plays of divine light

Yet they never had the urge to be published or publicized

The best works are those that never ever came to light or eyes

O let the masterpieces of the perplexing minds be not be judged by the
test of the time or tide

Let thy soul be not sly

Let thy meager mind be not be proud of its ephemeral pride

For after every death there’s a new life
So the death shall not die
And the dead shall again rise

You and I art none
But the wincing of a broken-winged-butterfly

A firefly that is fleeting flying to hide her flickering flimsy light
against the strenuous stringent thick heavy star-studded-far-flung-far-

O blue bird

My lost lovelorn soul weep at the dooryard of flesh-fed bars, rods of
iron and steel
Still I sin night and day
Knowing not the secret of my happiness and grief

The hungry owl-babies are hooting

The ravenous wolf packs are howling atip at the top of the deep dry
deserted valley

The golden bald eagles are gliding majestically upon the grand Grand
Canyon of ancient unknown uncharted beauty

The blue bird sings beneath the bough of red-oak, maple, sycamore, and

The full-bloom-melancholy moon is receding beyond the sky of naked

The village girls head toward the river of bliss to fill up their
empty receptacles and pitchers with the love-fluid

The gods and goddesses in stone petrifying the innocent naive sights
of the virgin sates

Blue bird
Blue bird

Set me free
Let me be me

I cannot fathom the depth of Thy secrecy

I’m too shallow
I’m too ignorant to believe in any belief

I’m an utter misfit

A falsified freak

I look with a gaunt on the street

I laugh in my sleep

Dream deceives me
My mistress mistreats

A dollar a dozen the white roses die in dream

She moans
She screams

She comes in orgasmic thrill
She takes me in
In, in, in—
Deep in her cherry-trip

The tree of love and lust break open the tomb and womb of the past
present futurity

The budding buds of the mellow maidens make me meek unique

Blue bird, blue bird
Sing sing sing

The sailing moon is racing the sailing ship

The rushing clouds are racing the receding sky of mystified myth

The trickling rain of pain the soaked sky weep

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