Own Masters Poem by PRAVEEN KUMAR English Poems

Wolf and fox seek carcass
For survival,
Lions and tigers earn livelihood
Or die like own masters;
Sheep and donkey walk as led
With all their senses shut,
Elephants stride on wild forests like lonely giants
On will in little concern for pressures;
Yet, lesser creatures dare to outrun
Their habitations in wilderness,
Though not masters of forests, their dens.

Base metals withstand all beatings and weights,
Not gold in pure and soft from;
Wisdom fences while ignorance permits,
Nobility fixes high norms to life.

The pleasure of pigs in filths,
The lure of fouls for dogs
Never tempt high-bred race-horse to fall in line;
The pleasure of itches
The rise on wings of owls or bats
Never brings joy to graceful soul;
Never brings the pleasure of height;
Nobility teaches to grow own small wings
To fly a little at a time on own small strength;
The glitter of gold easily fades,
The touch of nail breaks soft gold,
So is classical beauty's tender interior
That warrants thousand thoughts before every move
To save the loss of Self.

Height and weight win in slow, steady strides
Against speed and hasty sweep,
No greed, no race against races,
But, accept in grace that comes in natural pace;
Though a loser for lesser mortals
Who creep through holes and blasts mole
To capture rare prize,
Nobility never stoops to be less than noble;
For, nobility is something within
Like fragrance of flower
Or sparkles of diamond
Or infinite charm of pretty young girl.

How poetry can bargain beauty for form?
How painting can bargain art for craft?
How wisdom can bargain knowledge for pedantry?
How the Sun, his glow for the gust of heat?

No rise or fall touches noble fibres,
For, nobility is beauty and the greatest height;
No pressures move its classical height,
For a, inert it is, like nitrogen,
On its constant track in rain and hail-storm
In imperious contempt to time's travails;
Self-luminous it is, like the Sun
Whose glow spreads bright halo around
That brings strength of conviction
Of distinct conduct, neither less nor more;
The classical weight is like march-past in slow-times
In measured paces and proud strides;
It marches forever while shams gallop on horse-back;
Yet, the slow-times reach its post a day
In all splendours of tasteful art.