How Brevity Binds My Spirit To Lift - Poem by Aniruddha Pathak
Some when worship guineas and gold heirloom
Lying buried all year in vaults and cells,
The young fire crackers, and old fret from room,
In temples afar beat when drums and bells,
Time ‘tis when to invoke Goddess of wealth
On thirteenth day of crescent waning moon,
Worried of smoke, noise, and my shying health,
Lost was I in thoughts of old age too soon.
An if festive spirit, what with loud boom
Around, imprisoned scarce be by dark mood—
Even in thoughts of doom in a small room—
It made me on sonnet’s sparse plot to brood:
How brevity binds straying pen from drift,
How her compact frame my spirit uplift!
- Sonnets | 07.11.12 |
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