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