Tuesday, January 03, 2017

Poetry: The Consolation


Such such were the joy
In being young and innocent with wiry strength
Leading across open and steep and high places;
Along quiet streams flowing through monastic meadows
Still rolling alive and free with life;
Like its an endless field for adventures
Which never run up against stones or metals or misfortunes
Haphazardly thrown about by men and fate;
Their sole beauty, spur and ideals of achievement;
Till the world gets to them aboard nuanced wind of change

Making them fearful and sick and stuck
Confronted by shades of colours charting the horizon:
The gray and azure and yellow and colourless forms
The real stuff which make the world tick;
Watered by growing cluelessness and disillusioned;
Then a voice from deep within announced a belated biases-
For arming with bow and arrows, sword, gun and canons
To make life's gauntlet an easy enterprise
Lo, pleasant peasants, unlettered ploughmen and town men
Hold jealously to your dreams
Till destined winds shall blow and rains fall
Scattering about paths with overgrown weeds
And washing the fields anew
Awakening the new greener pasture of the earth;
Even when in disgrace and disagreeable with your misfortune lots;
Bear calmly the drab stints,
For no hurried exit is gain,
By tearful kicks on the heaven's door
Whose acts and appointments are with time alone keep;
Then let the swift eagles across the wide skies fly;
The strong leopards row the wide prairie;
Let's like diligent creative pet-lambs
Slowly work, pray, wait and arrived
To measure our state with towering men and shadow;
The sun, the moon and the stars.

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