Remould This Dense Resistant Clay
It was not a time for singing or for song.
Tears like burning solder stung my eyes,
I dragged myself unconsciously along
Beneath the deluge of the monsoon skies.
One came upon me like a brazen thief
And snatched my joy as from an open purse,
Pain as I had often known, and grief
As he lifted poems still in my soul, and worse
Stole the muse that long had guided me.
I walked uncaring in the pelting rain
As a swimmer drowning in an angry sea,
A sadness deep, unbearable my pain.
Silver arrows tore into my feet
As I travelled roads no rain could ever clean.
I find this transient life so bittersweet
With its enigma of the unforeseen.
When I was young I heard the dying scream
Of a wounded hare bleeding by the road
I hear it still in waking and in dream
And know death’s agony to be life’s goad.
But the leash of the subconscient stretches far
And holds us captive in our ignorance
Circumscribed by passions, wants bizarre
Fulfilled at the yearning soul’s expense.
We give undue importance to a mind
Incapable of silence to receive
Incoming truth and to the light blind
And at the end in breathless silence leave.
Now all my heart cries out, its breaking heard
By none except the Witness of the Way,
I seek through love to find the ennobling Word
That shall remould this dense resistant clay.
