Jonathan ROBIN Poems

Some thoughts like playful kittens trip ahead
And trip up Time which would no freedom leave
Nature’s instincts which in love believe,
Denying four dimensions and Death’s dread.
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Such separation leaves six senses weak
As if both legs above the shoulders lay,
No cheek to blush may rise, no tongue to speak,
Despair’s writ large, like critic’s praise for pay.
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Too many straight-line certitudes adopt,
Heed not head's tale, nor try to taste tail's pain
Enlightened understanding's rare. Men train
Themselves to closed shop minds. Why choice is stopped
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Poverty, plague, cyclone none prevent
Are global threats. Mankind blindly bumbles
Gestating his own future as he stumbles
Erratically from time to time misspent.
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Sin of self-love was mine until we met,
And all my soul, my each and every part,
Navel worshipped, 'self' could not forget,
Denying feelings from the inner heart.
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So like the winter has your absence been,
And every day that passes by forsakes
Narcissic hopes: - head aches, while hoary flakes
Drudge from dark depths stark ancient echoes mean.
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So turn to old Khayyam and from his cup
Allow yourself to sup while time remains;
Now sip the wine, take bread and verses up,
Drink deep of love till Time Time’s servants claims.
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Should there be nothing new beneath the sun,
And each sensation mirror-imaged time,
Not fact, but fancy of the most sublime,
Depending on those stimuli which run
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Strong is my faith, and each wraith from the Past
At last finds rest, repose from echoes old.
New virtue now rings true, and love’s repast
Draws light to life if all the truth be told.
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