God Buds From Faith
They say for the weak and the wretched,
Your grace is always there.
Those who have a complete submission
To You, You take them care.
Faith in you, faith alone, faith in the core,
Steadily leads the boat, to the desired shore.
Faith culminates in transformed transcendence,
Our life and love, are strung on Faith's harp.
They say, and I acquiesce, the soul in faith,
Our strongest conscience ever lives with.
Your mystery, prophets' history, find lore,
Faith is the only oasis, in transient shore.
poem by Bazi alis Subrata Ray
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My Lady The Moon, And I The Sun.
Moon needs Sun's light,
For the life of her unborn harvest,
A ray simply comes as guest,
The Moon enjoys the ecstasy's taste,
The moon buds, blooms,
The Sun often turns bee,
As if upon a flower sits the drone he.
The Sun is beyond our grasp,
Yet with its heat and light we live,
Our psychic and imagination control us,
And the body react with their touch.
Dear lady, you the Moon,
And your lover, say me, the sun,
Are here for, sense's fun,
In our child, -the moon peeps,
And the sun its seed reaps.
poem by Bazi alis Subrata Ray
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The Mother In Son’s Base.
Hail Mother Kali,
Which of your image,
Your son may guess,
To feel your incarnation.
Which of your form,
In meditation norm,
Conquer the carnal.
Mine is a vacant lot,
A waif with no mother’s care, -
The bounty graces, -
The cheek –lapping faces,
And tender affections layers,
Lacking, lacking, wanting I,
Too poor, to see thy, worth,
Thus your Divine,
No reacts on mine.
Hey my mother,
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poem by Bazi alis Subrata Ray
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Cosmos Thrilling Madness, -My Empress! To Loveangel Dean, -a token of friendship.
Thank you for your kindness/
'My whole heart rises to bless'/
My humble link finds a phase
In the solitude of my Empress/
The tattered and the flattered are gone/
There is no even the residue of fun
/ The joy of unknown has flown
Away all the traps of animal –mind
And somewhere in no where
/Say a complete bare
You, dearest I find.
The craving-burden,
And burden for cravings,
Prove miserable the honey dwellings,
And cancer desires flicker,
The masquerades for nothing. The
Hey tinged glow,
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poem by Bazi alis Subrata Ray
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Swami Vivekananda And His Voice To The Mankind,
The Parliament of Religions,
Chicago, -1893, world’s representations,
From inherited wells,
Ready to ring own bells.
‘Sisters and brothers’
From vast Unconscious,
A voice vibrant flashes.
‘You are all assured immortals,
Radiant souls in body’s walls.
Rise and wake from slumber,
Add fire to emit your amber’
Silence, turns to pin-dropp or more,
The hearts started opening new door.
Stillness’ tranquility, to quantum-nucleus,
Liquid –luminous, beacon-focus.
You are born lion and lioness,
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poem by Bazi alis Subrata Ray
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Who Am I? , -You! ! !
Hey you, -reflector!
In my form, in my sense.
In ebb and tide of divine sea.
Amidst mine two beings,
You sleep and rise,
My Surface –I, seeks wine,
And for its absence whines,
My surface I a gay guy,
Proves braggart soldier,
For nothing loves,
And for nothing cries,
My inner I, is born wise,
And with purest imagination,
In the secluded hours
Of strong discrimination,
Feels and realizes, mine self ,
You, -yes you in me are,
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A Fourtunate Father With His New Daughter, -Dedicated To Joyce Loba Flores. by Ray Subrata
The unquenched thirst,
Of Father, for daughter’s love,
Fountains with a call, -Baba,
From a voice of distant land,
While I am in India, my daughter,
In the farthest Philippines stands.
The face of youngest daughter Hamma,
Appears in Jhoy Loba’s image,
I send her a request, and wait.
‘Good evening sir, its my pleasure ‘
‘Thank you sweet little daughter like friend’,
And my psychic lingered willing suspense.
‘It is my pleasure Baba’, -came the message,
Moment made eternity, opening a father’s passage ‘
I felt a touch, as soothing as much,
From the voice of my new daughter,
A flower divine, by nature shines,
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poem by Bazi alis Subrata Ray
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My God.
My God is an onion,
With imaginations’ layers,
He appears, and dismays,
My every search.
My God is a river,
His dictate is soap,
I bathe and wash myself,
My blind obsession He robs.
My God is a desert,
He keeps me alone as waif,
He enjoys my forlorn -cry,
And ardent suffering He reaps.
My God’s love is an irony,
To my every material hope,
He acts as inconsistent reversal,
To dwindle and down my scope.
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poem by Bazi alis Subrata Ray
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Sins Are Dust On The Soul.
Your soul is by nature immortal divine,
The dusts may cover that but can't ruin.
The cheeky plucky desire's disease,
For the time-being the glow may decrease.
The storm of Fate,
May sweep you to hell's gate,
But you by your submission to Lord’s will
Can revive and restore the lost zeal.
Saint Valmiki the great Indian epic poet,
Was a terror-evoking dacoit by Fate.
Once he caught a monk to plunder,
And fastened him a forest tree under,
The monk taunted him for his sinful deed,
For none would share his sin whom he feed.
Dacoit Ratnakar from his old parents wanted to know,
Would they share his sin and to hell him follow?
The answer came as a biggest naught,
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poem by Bazi alis Subrata Ray
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Children And Their Immortal Shelter.
Children And Their Immortal Shelter, -To My Divine Sisters And Brothers.
Go on go on with sense’s slaughter,
Of your biological parasites,
The Mother Divine, cries and whines,
Seeing her children’s plight.
Sinners were they never not,
No sin had they ever brought,
But in senses’ play, on their clays,
Their Mother, they have forgot.
The mystic play, on the ground,
Goes round and round,
With sports and, operas incessant,
The referee’s whistle, -conscience’ bell
And captain’s dictate not to make a foul,
Remain, remain unheard, -although they haul.
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poem by Bazi alis Subrata Ray
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