SONNET
TWO.
Would not I
carry my rugged pride
When element
to element will mingle and reside
In perfumed
consummation of interstellar space
In a new planet
cast out of Brahama’s rage
For ever wishing
my nibbled pen could trace
A line of haughty
verse to silence the deadly state
The world’s
affairs And all its cloud clapped might
But ends in
poor surrender shorn of man’s pride
Shorn of all
honour when our tattered rags do show
The imprints
of tempters all their dishonest row
Then we hate
to touch our mortgaged flesh and bone
When souls are
slaughtered in church yards of rhone
It might have
been better to explore salient venues
The spirit of
dark waters or some sealed avenues.
Durlabh Singh
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