In this labyrinthine strange world of thine,
Of lanes and bye-lanes, I may make or miss
The path that leads me to right, path of bliss,
Which, when I opt for, hurdles seem to line
Up; to my left deceit and doubt do hinder,
Compelling me to turn where I'd ere gone,
Or worse, stand still clueless my act to mourn,
Whichever way I go, goes a grave blunder.
Embarrassed of embarking on many
A mistaken lead, burnt fingers, tired toes,
I've a self-taught lesson learnt uncanny:
Paths but paths are; no one right or wrong goes,
One that weaves no waves in your tranquil lake,
Simple and straight, be the path aught one take.
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This sonnet has been born of my discomfort of living in an increasingly intolerant world.
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Sonnets | 22.11.08 |
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Tired toes of life! ! ! Thanks for sharing this poem with us.
Tired toes of life is the right expression, nothing can be right in an intolerant word. Thanks for visiting this old sonnet