THE NIGHT'S CONSCIENCE

Listen to the call of silence -

an old friend standing on the fence

It bears witness to the darkness -

that is truthful in gloom or mess.

The shade though broken still stands,

like some rotten logs on barren lands.

It did not hoot but it did cry -

sleepless I was and lonely was I.

Maybe it flew down from the northern hill,

calling my past, loneliness and chill.

The owl's stare in darkness - amazing!

A wonderful world, nature's thing.

During the moon's time, it's shrill call -

wakes up fewer conscience but not all.

PRASENJIT©2025

HIS STUDY

Two decades since, it's in the past -

I stand in the hallowed room at last.

No cobwebs though, kept pretty clean -

my fingertips relive the old scene.

No books upon the table, bit of dust though - 
voices have faded, life lived on we know.
What is the pang in me, all the more?
I feel, he would walk in thru' the door.

I sit on the bench and up I look -
his greeting smile like an overflowing brook.
Outside the window, those boundary walls -
reply no more, to my childhood calls.

How life took a despaired, drastic turn -
I know 'He' is no more, yet more I yearn.
In the room his spirit lives ever free -
my guide, my star, my banyan tree...

PRASENJIT©2025