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Last evening, I lost
My way while passing
Through the woods.
Wandering around
Between day and night
I came near a hermitage.
Seeking help I cried out,
If anyone was inside.
One person came
And motioned the way
To my city.
II
I asked him who he was.
“Don’t ask about my identity and livelihood,
And about the abode here in the woods",
Implored he, again and again.
He warbled forth his words,
In a melody that
Appealed to me most,
“I am the Muse whom
The whole world offers
Oblations before it
Sets out to compose
Epics and great works
Of art and literature.”
III
Thrilled, I thanked
The heavens for
The heaven-sent boon,
To speak his mind out, prayed I
As to what poetry is all about.
Showed he no desire,
To reveal anything.
I implored and entreated
Again and again.
He opened his prophetic mouth.
IV
“Poetry is the domain of noble souls,
That weep for others’ agonies,
That feel for all His creatures,
That soothe and salve others’ susceptibilities,
That sing of heaven’s creations,
That celebrate His feelings and emotions
In His creations’ hearts;
That feed on Love and Sorrow,
That seek His grace and cool,
To change this world with His tool!”
I prayed for guidance further,
Whereupon he dilated.
V
“Poetry is not the maid
At the bar that serves at anyone’s beck and call,
Nor is she the food that all and sundry
Savour when they are hungry,
Nor a safety valve of pent-up cerebral superiority,
Nor the showpiece of cultural hauteur,
Nor the missile to settle scores,
Triggered by the green-eyed monster,
Nor the pulpit to pontificate from."
VI
I then asked him what she is like,
To which he replied thus:
“She revels in spontaneity
And in unpremeditated art do her joys lie.
She is all innocence and pure,
A veritable tree laden with
Fruits that cool and soothe,
Those whom Love abjured;
Those whom Life beguiled;
Those whom friends deserted;
Those whom Time turned a foe."
VII
"She is the melody that
Haunts the dales and vales.
She is the music that sustains
The lives steeped in cacophony.
She is the vision to all those,
Not seen by themselves.
She is the mana for those
That are worthy.
She is the sustenance to those
That suffer from pangs of a soul
Tossed and torn by Time.
She is the hope to all those
All that have lost all.”
The stream of the Muse’s speech
Was suddenly broken,
By my alarm.
I saw it was 6 o'clock,
The time to go for a walk. |
