I heard the thunder Of thoughts striking the plain of Barren mind followed By a spell of rain soaking The soul by the verses deep.
Harvest of Grief Wend your nomadic way westward, Away from the path Where my dead leaves fall. I will reap the harvest of grief alone. Leave me alongside The bank of pristine nothingness. A chasm dwells in my trunk Hollowness, never a friend unknown. Wander faraway to a land uncharted, The gust of wind may not be mighty enough To carry the lament of my soul. A seed of solitude under my shade is sown. ©Rumpa Ray-Ghosh
The Frosted Land Fluffy flakes fall Build a mass of layers. The essence of the earthy path Shrouded under the heap of frosted icicles. The snow laden winter buries Umpteen stories underneath frosted layers. Moments instantly freeze into Memories which lay frozen Inside the pallid land of snow. Bare branches wrapped in The cloak of ivory, withstand The torment of the frigid wind, Stand as witness to the phases Through which nature passes. Footprints of time leaves Impression on the frosty road. © Rumpa Ray-Ghosh
A thousand verses I write Colourful words echoed from the heart Innumerable melodies I croon Connect the souls that are held apart ©Rumpa Ray-Ghosh