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The Poet's Concern

Is it my mind which is corrupted?
Or is it my mortal frame which is ruined?
Pinnacle of all thoughts - once a part of my labyrinth,
Now die an inglorious death,
A sea of patient ideas, dry and disfigured,
Holds now the smoke of rejected motives and revolting drugs,
I stand on its shores - reminiscing
About winds, waves and light on pure sand!

Comments

  1. Anonymous7 March 2015 at 21:20

    "atha kena prayuktoayam papam charati purusah
    anichchannapi vashneya baladiva niyojitah........................?"
    ----krishna answered; but the answer is still incomplete...
    I suggest u a book- In search of the miraculous - P.D.Ouspensky.

    ReplyDelete

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