Dr. Yogesh Sharma

Veteran Poet - 1,869 Points (1-7-1959 / india)

Sania-Mania - Poem by Dr. Yogesh Sharma

There was a maid, all knew her well;
Many a time in the morning,
When the sun has just opened his cell,
Along the scenic Benjara Hill dwelling,
Rising, jumping and frolicking alone,
In a green court by the Hussein Sagar known.

With the racked dear, griped by both hand;
Hit the ball, point to point with flying curls;
With long volleys, screams and force loud;
Redoubled and redoubled with force wild hurls,
Inadequately clad princes never proved,
From any victory far removed.

She was crowned, but day by day;
Nation gave thy heart to thee,
They kept you alone and all love away,
And grew a love cell for only be,
There love like wine grew,
Lofty each day more true and renew.

But crossed the line, mocked her love nice;
While she hung, listless and shocked;
Penetrated deep into her heart the vice,
People’s torrents, pierced into her heart unanswered;
Rocked she was with all images solemn,
And uncertain land received as demon.

Her fault was grave, she had known,
Betroth across LOC, nation learned;
All the hearts could cry alone,
Her faith fanatic unperturbed,
Crushed all emotions and swell,
Thou love us no more, farewell, farewell and farewell.

Farewell with bleeding hearts,
No pain and no remorse,
With all happiness and wealth depart,
From the dear and crowned course,
To a nation where madness reign,
And cursed to veil, solitude but no gain.

Will be back one day with shrill and shame,
Flashed through her frame, sucked;
Here booted the glory and fame,
And won thy own no trophy proved,
O Lady! We get what we give;
In our life only our acts live.

Departed the queen with mangled dream,
One with worn out faith released,
In isolation without end and no gleam,
More alone than her loneliness ruled,
Longing freedom in despair,
She pines to be a part of lost hemisphere.

Her wedding attire may be her shroud,
Her sad eyes and disheveled hue,
A circle inauspicious, around her thrice weaved,
Closed her eyes with fear cue
And drunk the hemlock of sad device,
Invited self destructive fire, must he be as soon cooled,
O God O God his might and will prevailed.


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Poem Submitted: Monday, April 12, 2010

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