Some worship when gold and silver heirloom
That lies buried all year in volts and cells,
When the young fire crackers, old fret in-room,
In temples far when drums beat, ring when bells,
As time ‘tis to invoke Goddess of wealth
On thirteenth day of waning Ashvin moon,
Worried of vile smoke, of my old lungs' health,
I lost was in thoughts of brevity's boon.
Alas, festive spirit, what with loud boom
Around, can scarce imprisoned be by mood,
Even when confined in a smallish room,
Me, engrossed on sonnet's sparse plot to brood:
How brevity binds, letting me not drift,
How confined contours my spirit uplift.
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Written on Dhan-teras day of Diwali, the Festival of lights
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Sonnets | 16.11.12 |
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Festive spirit! ! ! Thanks for sharing this poem with us.
Yet one more moth-balled poem is visited for adding life to it, thank you Edward Louis.