God –the Father Poem by Rajpal Singh

(A Sonnet)
I’m like a metal which is blended with impurity,
Buried in its ore, and is unqualified for use;
Or like that tool, which has lost its flexibility
For being discarded and never been used.

Or like that instrument which for lack of maestro
Gives unpleasant discordant notes with its reeds;
Or like a neglected land where doth grow
A large number of useless, unwanted weeds.

Strike me hard, O’ lord, to extract from ore,
Rub and polish me with your divine might,
Bring pleasant harmony in me o’ great mentor,
Weed out to make me fertile with your celestial light.

This bird is captive and never knows to take flight,
Give it wings, O’ father, to scale a new height.