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
dream
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
infinite
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
O
Where is Helen, Cleopatra, Marilyn, Morrison, Nazrul,Tagore,Lalon
Dante
Blake
Shelly
Ujjol
Keats
Byron
Coleridge
Wordsworth
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-
away-starry-light
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
mahogany
The full-bloom-melancholy moon is receding beyond the sky of naked
lucidity
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
