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Let tonight be red, 
red as a glowing conflagration usually is.
As a fiery meteor crashes upon the earth,
so these argent moonbeams kiss your eyelids,
and enkindle the fire of concupiscence,
which, for me,
is more psychedelic than the lunar bliss.
In you I observe my microcosm;
the sleek plateau of your forehead is
covered with silken strands of hair which
resemble the numerous tributaries of Nile.
Let me bathe in your scarlet cherries—
those lips whose waves are as graceful as 
the breakers of Florida.
Tonight is short; before the vapoury clouds
blur the moon, let us explore 
the mystic alleys of love; let the moon
teach us the craft of hallucination–
delirious sacred love, devoid of sanity
and composure, floats on the turbulent
current of Atlantic, without a destination.
Can we forget the bounds of superego?
Transcending the stagnation of mind and soul,
take me all the way with you, 
to the utopian paradise, that we may
resemble the first parents of mankind
before they were unashamed of their nakedness.
And you, my Eve,
with you I crave to savour 
the senses, the gustatory exhilaration.
Thus with the language of silence,
ah, singe our desire, gifted by God,
without transgressing His mandate.
Close your eyes, fade into an inebriated trance;
from the burnt ashes of love, a new Phoenix will rise.

26th February, 2020

Copyright © Sarban Bhattacharya