SONNET ONE
Friends! Dawn beckons the Sun, blinding the light SONNET TWO
Such new born days, amoebas freshly spawned Emulate the rose in their perfection Scented pages of vellum, unadorned By time’s taint and relentless infection. In youth, we too will emulate the rose Basking in glory, proud of our estate Certain that our story will never close With arrogance unfazed; blind to our fate. The beauty of the rose will quickly pass, Time will erase all thoughts of permanence And in youth’s pasture, wither summer’s grass; Youth’s sweet song shall have no more audience Seize each moment as though it were your last, Once lost, it passes to forgotten past. SONNET THREE We have but a brief time to mark our place, Within the cosmos and the universe. A tiny window, both in time and space, Through which to glimpse the wonder, then disperse. We know from the beginning, our prime Of life is but a step before the downward trend, Under the restless canopy of time, That had no beginning and will know no end. Upon a chequered board of nights and days, We move in an infinite game of chess, Where random chaos rules and checks or slays Our small pieces, destined to nothingness. So let us drink the wine and then dismiss, Our sapience to the vine, with one last kiss. SONNET FOUR Beneath this rose bush let us lie; a book Of verse, a loaf of bread, a flask of wine, And bring our promised paradise to brook, At once, while lips may press and limbs entwine. Think, as we lie in bliss, this very grass, Has felt the royal feet of kings of old, Once saw the shade of Alexander pass And the fate of mighty empires unfold. And this dainty rose under which we lie, In all its perfume and its crimson hue, Perhaps saw some great Caesar yield and die As envious death demanded its due. Oh, rise beloved, let us steal away And hope to love and live another day. SONNET FIVE
Of the full Moon as Day’s bright colours creep,
Dousing the Stars that crystalised the night,
Opening your dreamers’ eyes from silent sleep.
You dream, within the tavern of your soul,
Of houris, copious wine and mortal sin,
That fill a fleeting moment, not the whole,
And feeds the flesh if not the soul within!
Your new day may fill with song or sorrow,
Until the Moon returns in her glory,
And only she knows what lies tomorrow,
And whether you remain within life’s story.
So awake and joyfully break your fast.
Who knows, this new born day may prove your last!
And think how time does mock its frantic spate.
As, in steady rhythm and stately pride,
It calmly shears us from our human state.
Each day, a new rose might bloom and some nights
Light up another moon, but moon of my mine
Own, reflect! It too will douse other lights,
Of those we love and those we would enshrine.
Life is like a mighty caravan train,
That strives to journey through both night and day,
And both meek and mighty seek to remain
Within this world, but all must end their stay.
Give me your hand. Let’s greet the rising moon,
For she will note our absence all too soon!
SONNET SIX
The Divine Presence, who gave us form and grace, Made us so sapient, to perceive the great Beauty inherent in the human case, Gave our bodies a less glorious fate. Allah! Jehovah! Worship whom we may, Why force us towards such desecration As this? There must have been another way To fulfil the act of our creation? Are we just randon elements of fate, Which Chaos moves in some ritual dance, Destined for a far less than human state, Victims of Time’s primaeval circumstance? Best to enter the portals of each day Thought free, than seek to to understand His way.
And so begins another unknown day,
The Vintner to work upon his green vine,
The Potter to his wheel and moulded clay,
Both to unleash the alchemy of wine.
Think, that clay might once have been someone’s flesh,
The distilled wine some passed-on soul’s spent blood.
Will we, who sit and drink each day afresh,
Ourselves, one day, give pleasure just as good?
Handle each pot as though it were a friend,
Who passed before you through that dark gate.
And drink each glass as though it marked the end
Of your life, a toast to our common fate.
So, resigned yet eager for that last drink,
Let the wine flow until we reach the brink!
SONNET EIGHT
Before I sought wine as my one solace,
Still with a childish mind, seeking my way,
I often frequented the market place.
And sat beside wise men, eager to pay
Deference to their intellectual minds,
Their contempt for the past; their vast conceit
For our human prowess and for mankinds’
Need to change the world and make a counterfeit!
Utopia!! No more grief? No more pain?
No Hell below? No Paradise above?
Arcadian pleasures to come again?
With the watchword freedom; the password love?
They speak in vain. Wise men should save their breath.
Love is for always! Freedom comes with death!
SONNET NINE
I also sat beside a Rose, which claimed,
From Earth I grew, to Earth I shall return.’
Also a perfumed hyacinth proclaimed,
‘I, too, must bloom in glory, serve my turn
And give my petals back unto the ground’’
Both the rose and hyacinth have no role
To play in mens lives, nor can they propound
A theory to explain the innate soul
Of beauty he perceives in their sweet state.
If they had minds, what would they think of our
Capacity to wonder at our own fate.
When time will soon deprive us of that power!
So, we two, powerless under dust, will lie
Beauty and beast; ours not to reason why!
SONNET TEN
I dreamt I rose up from Earth’s barren waste,
And found there was but one final, dark gate!
And Moslem, Christian, Jew and Hindu caste,
Buddhists and all others that congregate
Before their own Gods, in worship and grace
Queued for their afterlives, made incarnate!
A promised voyage into unknown space
There to assume some other form or state!
Where are their priests, whom they allowed to blame
Their various Gods for all their grief and pain?
Are they now cast out, seen in all their shame,
Or will they seek other fools and preach again?
Better to live and die without a clue,
To where we go and what will be our due!
SONNET ELEVEN
Once, on a wall, a moving finger wrote
A warning message to all of mankind
And that same night, that relentless hand smote
A ruler from his throne and left behind
The fear that retribution follows sin.
Always a divine agent guides our feet,
Into the path of righteousness, within
Which we stumble until, at last, we meet
Him face to face, in paradise. How droll!
To ‘be weighed in the balance and found short’
God’s dreadful warning to the restless soul?
Or a mere fallacy that counts for nought?
Do not wait until heaven solves this doubt.
The truth exists, within ourselves, not without!
SONNET TWELVE
There is an inner self, which we must face
In that hour of false dawn. That time for truth!
Where there is no cover, no hiding place,
When all the sinful actions since our youth
Are shown for our unbiased scrutiny
And where there is no place to seek and find
Forgetfulness and souls cannot mutiny
Against the Divine Power who lies behind
Their imprisonment by relentless fate.
It is the only place where one is free
From fear of Nemesis and that dark gate
That drags our feet towards eternity!
Beloved, could we share such inner space,
Existence might become a time of grace!
SONNET THIRTEEN
Our world, an arena around which bays
The hostile audience of the Universe.
The gates and exits are the nights and days
Through which our weary bodies intersperse,
To ‘ad lib’ our lines and plead our just cause
Until the Producer nods from the wings
And we take our curtain to small applause.
Just as puppets are moved by cunning strings,
We act out love, birth, passion, death and pain
And move, in sequence, by scripts that we receive.
A play repeated time and time again,
A drama only Chaos could conceive!
A puppet show Existence just forgot?
Or has the Divine Playwright lost the plot?
SONNET FOURTEEN
In the Temple, Mosque; Synagogue and Church,
All true believers seek relief from strife,
From a God in whose wisdom they can search
For reasons behind their fears in life.
In taverns and the pleasure domes of sin,
True unbelievers take another view.
Why fight a battle death will always win,
When with forgetful wine they can renew
The promise of paradise every day?
Better to grasp the nettle now, on Earth,
Live on credit and leave our souls to pay
The Devil for what life was really worth!
SONNET FIFTEEN
Love, let us bask in night’s beauty and then
Walk in this garden, as another Spring
Draws near. Remember the rising moon when,
In its soft light, the nightingale would sing.
Youth’s sweet manuscript flourishing with the rose,
Those Summer nights when love was all we sought
Beneath the rose, watching her petals close.
How many times this very moon has brought
Us joy. How many times has love sustained
And passion reigned in this brief life of ours?
But harbingers of Winter intervened
When Autumn’s fruits supplanted Summer’s flowers.
Next Spring, will rose perfume and moonlight pour?
Nightingales sing? Our ghosts make love once more?