Everlasting spring

Often I find you
in the forest of my mind.
Here the everlasting spring
ignores the outside winds
of summer, winter.

Bird-songs
flow with the wings
of my mind
flowers with their hues
ring here in the winds
forever.

I am a lover.
I love to love.

With my hand in your hand
I write my lines,
you are my Scarlet O’ Hara, Matilda,
Madame Defarge, my Jane Eyre, my Emma.
Eyeliners that brighten your eyes
unite with tears
falling in love and despair
become the ink in my platter
with which I paint..

O my lady
like streams you run in my veins
roles of mother, daughter, lover
inevitably drift in my mind;
for it has witnessed you
in euphoria, anxieties
for generations.

Your delineation seems tired
with ignominy and insinuation
the storm of the seasons has fluttered
your leaf
but in the page of my mind
teasing woods
I see your matchless grace.
With belief, I write your
unsung, unseen stories
sometimes with a grass-flower
at other times with a flute
or a rainbow.

Your unparalleled state
of calm, despite stages
you pass on either side of the spell
in separation or union of love
exile, kingdom
is being written ceaselessly
by your lover.
He is tirelessly writing of his love
in the eternal spring inside,
leaning on you.

© supratik 2020
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