Passion's fervour eludes when my pen's clip,
I cajole, nor caress that it pays heed,
Nor go halfway with a hand of friendship,
Nor yet work hard weeding unwanted weed.
I keep instead stoking the dying fire,
And oftentimes weeds have ways to inspire—
As often as they make me much perspire,
It keeps nigh young my pen's aging desire.
I try to rest rooted in discipline,
That my mind's wanderlust stays ever wild,
That raw curio of a child remains piled,
It helps me keep my inner garden green.
That I take a sea-farer like dive deep
And hope one day a rare treasure to reap.
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Sonnets | 04.01.10 |
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Oh! Yes! ! There will be sure a success.... Hard work leads to it....10 You may like to read my poems too.... Naila
Thanks Naila Rais, you liked the poem