The season of dispatch

When comes the session of silent dispatch …..
I summon upon the remembrance of things past;
After a seconds I thought of ma old woes
Which wailed ma dear time to be waste……

Over the mountains and over the waves…..
Beneath the fountains and some under the graves
There by rocks making love to find the steepest way
Annexed my day dreams and night mares….
I assumed my season of dispatch has arrived ….

Where there is no place; for my eyes to stare upon her
Where there is no space; for my beats of drums inside heart
If air comes then he will easily pass beneath us would be most appreciable to say…. Some think to loose her would make me stable but indeed I knew my last days were near by ….. No demands no complain against her ….. All was my fault that I couldn’t make the season of love to grow …..

Questions tortured me … and whispers made me to shed off
Spirit of delight was conquered by me just for moments which vanished in seconds ….. One more unfortunate weary being under the beneath was ma grave didn’t come early instead waiting me to go to her rashly …..

To touch her was dream; to kiss her was impossible
To feel her was stains that gone down the drain;
To listen her was just unquestionable …….

But who knows if it’s the question of another lover for her then I would say no one can stop a lover to find out his/her way ….




(Loving yew never ends)



By:-pupu mohanty