Fugitive
I wanted in my poetry cup
Neither fixed heat nor cold
Sought just to raise it up
Close to your hair gold
No centre is required to write
A poem of beauty or struggle
Rather a fugitive’s might
To bring out those lovely bubbles
We live mostly in thoughts
Of pictures and colors various
Trying to untie the knots
To unleash your eyes hilarious
This is a fugitive world
At the margin of the bell curve
When it is fruitfully unfurled
There is a dance in your nerve
Were there no fugitive thinkers
To mix dream with the reality
No poetry would ever shake the drinker
To draw you close to me
It is an asset dear friend
That the words are my companion
Yes I swerve from the mainstream no doubt
And pursue my pen in abandon
And the result is fresh morning
Green leaves and sometimes bouquets
Many a time they come adorning
Fugitively orange days
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March 12, 2016
Copyright © Probir Gupta | Year Posted 2016
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