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Poem

I
Proudest of graves as get grey mass of moss, 
Where goats greedily browse young sprouts still green, 
The graves as get grey that had grandeur seen, 
Tallest of fames fade fainter with dull gloss. 
The seeds of fame sown ere as fail to flower, 
As heads of footstones sink in, lose its prime, 
As red brickwork darkens with passing time, 
Wanton weeds of ill fame inch by inch tower.

As dog-eared pages of proudest of tomes 
Fated are to get sold as cast-off waste, 
Once yellowed get, get ditched from hoary homes,  
Get recycled, melted to pulpy paste, 
   Once more to be a blank paper again, 
   Where’s that poet’s song, where his sweet refrain?

II
Nor is poet there, nor his sweet refrain,
All get washed clean— lofty, lyrical words, 
To home as return all migrating birds,
Blank sheets look prime for new poetic pain. 
So too biggest names die, dies all the fame, 
Bravest deeds get dull at a rising rate, 
Grey lichens as leech on tomb-stone's nameplate, 
And loftiest life turns to dust the same. 

A star is not known for its size nor light,
But warmth and life it renders to planet,
We on Earth care not how much our sun’s bright,
But how well it bestows a lifetime’s debt.  
   Yet, everything gets frayed to suffer loss,   
   The proudest of fames in time lose their gloss.
__________________________________________
Crown of Sonnets |06.08.2011|

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