Of a finite being in a finite world,
Say, does one not disregard one’s place?
One is but a child merely born,
Of a silent mother, cradled by grace.
Say, does one see the world beyond,
Rise above the deluding bed,
Glimpse into the infinite existence,
A silent mother’s womb has made?
Say, does one see oneself,
A thorn disappearing in a field of hay,
Rise above one’s mighty ocean,
That breathes at the mercy of the day?
Say, does one see beyond one’s tomb,
Rise above the grave of hate,
Deluded by one’s fallacious rectitude
While dancing into the trap of fate?
Rise above the noxious clouds,
Of lust, envy and foolish pride,
Rise above the earthly horizon,
Gaze below, now, far and wide.
Say, can one see the ground below,
The sight of mankind's pride turn wild,
A petite world, a fragile delusion,
Of a silent mother’s straying child?
Copyright by Delilah Das
A pleasure to read your rich and thoughtful poem, Delilah! The repetition ("say" "rise above") and the touch of rhyme are entrancing.
ReplyDeleteYou might want to add rhyme to the second stanza ("glade" rather than "bed")? And the "thorn" line seems awkward to me but I'm not a real poet. :p
Well done and carry on!
Hi, and omg thank you so much!!
DeleteBy bed I meant the earth or soil or land but you're right, a better word could be used!
And I used thorn to tell people in the vast and endless universe, our existence is about as important or as visible as a little thorn lost in a field of hay.
Thank you for the feedback! Without them, I cant be better at this craft.
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DeleteGood Read 👍
ReplyDelete