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Tumi mor pao nai porichoy
Clueless unborn thou art my song
The song for so long flew was not known, a long gone for so long soaring unborn
Adored the floral fragrance in, gone dried in mundane time left behind
The glow was an off beat startled, not to be, a neverland to greet beside.
The gust of a windy high, never there, never to try to recite , alongside
Come along my pensive sorrow, come along my kindled candle, burning strong
Come along for the valiant cause to stand headstrong through the darkest depth of the long
Death and her kissing diva, may find and so shall the cause be, the innermost song
With the pensive, painstaking , overcoming a morbid with a churned in mayhem
To greet them all , and all, undefeated, never in another succumbed in Bethelhem.
Raga: voirabi
rythm:kaharba
composition (bangla): 1332
composition (after christ): 1925
lyricist: dinendranath thakur
Copyright © Tamanna Ferdous | Year Posted 2025
Clueless unborn thou art my song
The song for so long flew was not known, a long gone for so long soaring unborn
Adored the floral fragrance in, gone dried in mundane time left behind
The glow was an off beat startled, not to be, a neverland to greet beside.
The gust of a windy high, never there, never to try to recite , alongside
Come along my pensive sorrow, come along my kindled candle, burning strong
Come along for the valiant cause to stand headstrong through the darkest depth of the long
Death and her kissing diva, may find and so shall the cause be, the innermost song
With the pensive, painstaking , overcoming a morbid with a churned in mayhem
To greet them all , and all, undefeated, never in another succumbed in Bethelhem.
Raga: voirabi
rythm:kaharba
composition (bangla): 1332
composition (after christ): 1925
lyricist: dinendranath thakur
May my love in total longevity
My Lord, rush to thee, rush to thee, rush to thee
May my deepest longing soaring high
My Lord , finds your way, knowing thee, knowing thee, knowing thee
My mind, may respond in time whence , the call will prevail
wherever, however, and whenever, to answer yours , so it will
eradicate hindrances along the way, to ease more and more to be
My Lord,humbling myself, to long for thee, to long for thee, to long for thee
The meager plate of this lowly world, an outsider
May end this time, being decisive a subtle time traveler
My mind may blossom in privacy , in solitude , serene and submissive
My Lord, With your gifted one, your gifted one, your gifted one to receive.
My friend, my innermost yearning of my shrine , where there is serenity
beauty thrives there in life, in blossoming so to be
May the flight of the song seek thy harmony to belong
an interlocking verse to your song, humming for so long, for so long, for so long.
Some neighborhoods have to have your color pallet approved.
You can have gray, tan or light beige, but no snazzy colors that moved.
Oranges and reds are frowned on, and purples are put in a sad place.
To mention the word emerald would be more than a major disgrace.
These houses look the same in a sea full of ordinary and bland.
I never want to live in one of them said my aunt Ring-a-Mor-And.
Ring-a-Mor-And bought land outside the socialized city.
She wanted to fix her house up in rainbow colors, extremely pretty.
The gray and tan house owners get in their cars and run out to take looks.
I see their sad faces, and feel sorry for them in their plain little ugly sad nooks.
Ring-a-Mor-And’s house is glitzy and spritzy, and ritzy, and brings glee to me.
To thousands if the parade of cars is an indicator said my Cousin Bree.
One hundred years ago on Eilean Mor
On a lone lighthouse that was manned by three
Their story lives on in local folklore
What happened is a complete mystery.
~
A passing ship saw no beam in the night
In Edinburgh port they raised the alarm
Authorities feared something was not right
Concerned the keepers had come to some harm.
~
They searched the isle every inch of ground
Lighthouse furniture upturned on the floor
No signs of life on the island were found
Just an eerie presence on Eilean Mor.
~
Ghostly voices oft heard when the wind blows
They’re trying to tell what nobody knows.
Written 22 April 2019
For April premier 9 any theme up to 14 lines.
Date judged 24th April 2019.
~
Writing challenge 4 May 2019, no placement poetry contest.
Sponsored by Dear Heart.
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