MOHIT MITRA Poet Rhyme

Dilectio Leonis

—Sub Iure Cordis—

If I must choose a furred estate,
 I’d be a lion—composed, aware;
 Who lingers with deliberate weight,
 As though the world conspired the air.

My mane demarcates tempered space,
 No vagrant touch, no errant near;
 Love sole may consecrate that grace,
 And sanction who may venture here.

Yet you—approach; I know your art,
 I might concede a tempered view:
 A velvet nudge, a yielded heart—
 A lion inclines where hearts are true.

For others—pause, observe, depart;
 No casual claim, no passing due.
 I husband distance into art,
 And share my kingdom with a few.

At times I range where shadows lean,
 As though I ward some veiled throne;
 I watch, unseen yet half-foreseen—
 A sovereign most when left alone.

But should you bring no gift, no plea,
 No hurried hand, no grand display—
 You might, by quiet chance, find me…
 Asleep upon your lap. I stay.

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Natasha L Scragg May 4, 2026 at 6:27 AM Thank you for your entry in the contest. Lions are powerful and carry a nobility of their own. An interesting choice. I get the feel of the lion being available but also liking his own space. An appreciation of solitude without abdication of responsibility. I like the depth to your poem. All the best. :-D MOHIT MITRA May 4, 2026 at 8:44 AM Dear Natasha, You have seen truly—the lion here is less creature than condition: a discipline of nearness, where solitude is not absence, but form preserved. I’m grateful you paused to read beneath the surface. Where nearness asks, the spirit does not yield, But weighs the touch that seeks to cross its flame; For what is kept is not by fear concealed, But held in honor of its inward name.