In this unelapsed trying time, I yet woke
As life’s trials weigh heaviness in my mouth.
Too many beffudled voices, grappling within,
My garrulous lips could utter none!
So that I lay hold of this pen, let it speak for me
Let it help my infirmities as it links with core
Of my soul – reeling off the glebe of its shore.
I commune with my creator via this bleeding ink,
Even as my blood in passion, flows like tiding ocean
Streaming into the realm, holy of hollies, prior as I knock
Muttering worship and praise for gift of life.
In anguish, I plunge in the blood of the lamb
So that my crimson besmirched figure be turned to snow.
Then, my soul, cumbered of multi-farious, hydra-headed
Issues, I heave out as excrements – dung
As I drop ’em at the feet of the Great Enigma –
Let Him alone unravel my mysterious woe
And bring me to the denuoement, fixing resolution
To my poetic prose, that I may prance in deliverance
As I exit the realm in gay chant of songs of praises…
