(14-2-1957 / Coimbatore, Tamilnadu, India)

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Sonnet: The Pure-drest Souls, Go To Heaven

What use is an Angelic face within
A heart of self-conceit, revenge and scorn?
What use is Saint-like man with soul of sin,
Who harbors long in mind for he’s forlorn?


Let face and eyes reflect the heart of man;
With time, the mask remains, by habit glued;
Allow the mind to run amok, we can?
Let soul with virtues, good deeds be imbued.

For Heav'n receives souls that are not defiled;
In camouflage, none can get past the gate;
Beware,0 man, like rubbish, sins get piled;
The more they stay, bad habits can't abate.

Relentless sinners can't reach God's Abode;
As Heaven has its own soul's strict dress-code.

Submitted: Friday, June 20, 2003


Read poems about / on: heaven, heart, god, time, sonnet, running

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