My Songs Poem by Praveen Kumar In Shobha Priya

My songs like my life,
Dull, though intense
Like bad cold fever;
My songs like my heart,
Bare with brooding passion
Like distant winter cloud.

There, rhythmic celestial dance
Hots up to pregnant broods
To deliver cold, still-born child;
The blood and mud passions
Evaporate like iodine
To a fog in my songs.

The zeal of life, to sad spectrum,
Dissociates through the soul's crystal prism
And spreads to thin lines of shades;
Though warm within, cold like ice,
Though rich and deep, too monotonous,
My songs like life, tread uncertain path.

Like lush pulp in metallic shell,
The songs defy free motion
In the safe cage of circumspection;
Cold, steel words in straight precision
Clatter around poetic prophecies
And bare truth in bone and flesh.

The hymns neither hot nor cold,
Neither storm nor still,
But carry forth in steady speed;
The tunes neither light nor grave,
Neither stir nor thrill,
But lingers like soul's dull sleep.

Though deep, even on surface,
Though high, level on the ground,
The subtle thoughts squat flat on eyes;
Though sweet, mute to ears,
Though fluid, stern to the mind,
The bard's beauty sinks to wastes.

The songs, abstruse like life,
Live in smokes beyond the ground,
Unifirm, dim in indistinct form;
My life my songs,
My songs, my life,
The two hues of the same soul.