Wednesday, August 23, 2006

A heroe's woes

A bale of hay in a rustic sight,
turned to grey in a craven night.
It told the tale of a shining beacon
and it's death by the edge of it's own reason.
The lofty ones looked down and frowned,
'twas funny and tiny, below on the ground.

Why the pretense of warmth and love,
when fires raged hearts below and minds above?
Why warrant the heartbreak of a mere child
to make him open his arms wide and his mind?
Once stung and stunned, will he not lose faith?
Once strung by thumbs, wont he embrace a wraith?

"Alas", the elite frowned and gave benign smiles,
"'Tis, his own doing, only his folly which riles,
rends his heart and poisons his mind,
corrupts his smile and despite vision, he's blind".

"But how?", I wonder, "can they understand?"
"for my feet are on the ground and theirs, don't scale land".

2 Comments:

Blogger Prashant Gautam said...

can i pass this off as my own?

how long did it take you to think of this poem?

4:55 AM  
Blogger ~Sen~ said...

hmmmm..... the job wasn't allowed to throttle the poet.
That's good news ! :D

4:56 AM  

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