A parched land, thirsty bird, worn wild, hungry beggar,
This heart of mine yearns and pines for something better;
Fresh orchids, love birds, content wild, happy humans,
Yet, in such paradise, would one find no nuance?

An empty space is void, indeed, physically,
It’s blue-black-space contained in all – mystically;
It’s ‘dark night of the soul’ psychologically,
It’s salvation par excellence – religiously…

This is no pessimism nor nude rude negation,
It’s, for me, a search for meaning -truth probation;
Like the parrot pecks the mango’s interiors,
Yet not intending to hurt its exteriors…

It’s not seeing gloomy dead darkness in the tomb,
It’s witnessing a precious soul in the tomb’s womb;
It’s the holiness of the highest form and state,
It’s nothing determined by the hate-bait of fate…

Void, sometimes, like the death-filled fearful mind of threat,
That, like nightmares or phantoms, do great frights beget;
Absurdity and nothingness when poison lit,
Its purity gets aborted; its throat gets slit…

Void is subtle and needs to be handled with care,
It’s like burning the bonfire yet not getting flare;
If we learn to see void like our marriage banquet,
We’ll be blissful! Not spiritually bankrupt!

“Empty yourself to fill the void with love (Debasish Mridha).”