On Parole Poem by Aniruddha Pathak

If not prison, life's being on parole,
A let of leave on oath, gratuitous dole,
A sole's sent on a shopping trip on Earth
To fill up life baskets, whatso deemed worth,
Whatso in dearth and lacking in last birth,
Yet, what we pile are trinkets of li'le worth,
In trivial mirth is lost all of parole,
We dither, dawdle on god-given goal.

And curtains call, we feel more than silly,
Life baskets lifted are summarily,
A new basket and a fresh shopping list,
Are sent back again— Destiny is kind,
But trinkets still are tricky to resist,
Man with a pair of eyes is still purblind.
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Sonnets | 02.08.09 |