Most of our lives are, I fear
Like the cinders that are
Neither coal nor ash in state!
They clog the roots of swaying carnations.
Our fears, like cheetahs, run faster than our thoughts.
Helplessly you and I tear off the last page
Of the books of our biography written in a hurry!
None has read the end of them.
I see a petaled coral that is green,
Which often hides the white death, the greatest leveller
And we perish drowning the hope for ever!
Like many rivers which have changed the course.
We live often without meaning or purpose,
With meandering and engulfing the cardinal designs.
We often see a homeless God wandering!
And in our gardens we accommodate Him for 'ever'.
In the midst of the ruins of burnt umber later
We see Him lost and we mourn over it
And His shrine is completed with an idol installed!
It remains closed within the walls shaded with mystery.
I too am sorry Madam Valsa, I have told about your accommodating that God of yours in the 16th line.. The poem has much more than what a theist can understand and the attribution of ' blunt' is necessary for your comment as a quick adjective to be sorry for. Apart from that, it may look like that I am blundering and I still accept it as the brutal majority of believers like you live in the fools` paradise and the destitution of people like me in the world of mistaken or superfluous identities has to be an irony of a phase of time. The theme is crying for other readers and their penetration into the concept is however wished for and hence this poem...
God is never homeless! Without God in our lives...... we feel homeless and rudderless...! I am sorry Dinesh, for being blunt! !
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
An excellent constructed poem!