THE DREAM
Yesterday was hell,
I was cooked in fire
Though it winter was
and all others cool;
When the cuckoo sang
a melancholy fine and frail
I remembered Thee,
forgotten for long for long.
Why am I such, my
memory so fragile,
A wretched
ungrateful pig, discarding my love?
Why such insatiable
craze in the interior frame,
Is it Adam’s curse
or mere earthly fire?
What ev’r be the
curse, I feel that ashamed
To knock at Thy
door, a chanced traveler;
I throw myself
always into the dirty mire,
Consuming discarded
waste, allured by hazardous spell.
Why fail to send
some trusted messengers,
Who could conduct me
straight to Thine own bower?
How long shall I
crave, waiting for the call,
The day of our
union, will that remain a dream?
Dr. Karickam
No comments:
Post a Comment