LET IT BE*

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LET IT BE*


Let it be the warmth of some tropical night,
Or have the winter continue its icy hold.
Whether rage or quiet possesses the heart,
Lord as You may choose.
Yet though Your every munificence was withdrawn,
You Yourself we could not lose.

*After Mary Elizabeth Coleridge


“After St. Augustine”

Sunshine let it be or frost,
Storm or calm, as Thou shalt choose;
Though Thine every gift were lost,
Thee Thyself we could not lose.

Mary Elizabeth Coleridge

THE OLD KING'S LAMENT

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THE OLD KING’S LAMENT 
[ZAFAR’S LAMENT]




When we first had met
Time had brought me into my later years.
I was a man of a “certain age.”


Now, older still, it matters not
How much longer my life extends.
The moments remaining are way too few.
Soon I die and with me go the memory of those days,
When you were with me in the sun,
And I could have you within my reach throughout the night.


You meant more to me than all the prize
Which once was mine and mine alone in the treasury.


Bitter my fate then that
I am not allowed to cry at greater length.


Never shall I have the hours enough
To write all the poems of my lament,
My having lost your love,
What woe my life has been without you.


This lease of breath,
Though well beyond the count of years
That any man, even a king, might expect,
Now I know too short, indeed!




*The lines above represent an original love poem. Shah Zafar was properly know as Bahadur Shah II. His pen name was Zafar. He was the last Mughal Emperor. For both his Urdu and his English verse translation from which I have adopted some sentiments and lines see,

http://8ate.blogspot.in/2007/11/lines-penned-by-bahadur-shah-zafar.html

THE WORD, A Lover's Exhortation

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THE WORD, A Lover’s Exhortation


Well!  What do you say, honey?
I believe that I say it right. 
It is God alone Who knows
The one dimensionality -- the real tragedy --
The empty when we call upon the soul.

Only He can quell the hunger, quench the thirst.

But, sweetheart, hey! I tell you now. 
Forget it! Fly straight! 
Think of the Frick with its fabulous El Greco, 
Small though that one painting is, it amply captures the fury,
When Jesus castigates the money changers.

The Word is clear.

No man may serve two masters.
God loves the prisoner, the downcast, the lame.
He loves the lilies of the field.
Grass need not care how it clothes itself.

Though great it may be to be King, what profit in it,
When the first shall be last and those with least,
Most, and beggars shall inherit the earth,
And children be fountains of wisdom?



We have seen the sorry example, 
What terrible breach of precept!
Celebrated priests and magistrates have not known the Lord,
Yet once He had stood right there before them.

WINTER LOVE MELANCHOLY

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WINTER LOVE MELANCHOLY


The seabirds cry out across the harbor.
I hear from them a high lonesome song.

And in the distance a fog horn,
It, too, sounds a plaintive note,                                                   Repeatedly reviving my sorrow.

The damp, hard, winter wind frightens me.
I have a bad shiver.

The nights remain very long.
I no longer seem able to recall how
Once a summer sun had warmed the days.

Even though I use both my hands
And pull down hard upon my stocking cap,
Its edges fall short of cover for my ears.

I know that I might never kiss her again.

)                                        

 Mercy, please Mercy!

What hope have I for life,
When Heart has packed her clothes and left me!

MAKE BELIEVE

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MAKE BELIEVE*

I have an idea. Why not today,

Even now, this very moment,

However late the hour,

We could act as if

Neither one of us once allowed

The words “I love you” to form upon our lips.

Come on! What's with you?

Given our situation, it's worth a try.

Let's pretend we know not each other,

That within us desire plays no role.

Make believe that soul meeting soul

Is silly stuff, a bit of romantic nonsense.

Might we suppose that memories are absent,

And the tumult of heartache, not a factor at all!

Maybe then, at sunrise tomorrow,

We awake and find that nothing remains between us,

No more happiness or sorrow,

No hint of regret or regard.

Love, what love, love had never been ours.

*Josephine L.A. Ranes' poem, “Let's Pretend,” prompted my own verse version on the topic of make-believe. http://abeautifultragedyjosephine.blogspot.in/

Let's Pretend

We'll act as if

You never said "I love you."

Pretend like we never wanted

One another.

Let's pretend

We just don't care

Today.

Maybe then

We really won't

Tomorrow.