Lo, Stumbling Stones Love Me Still
Those that praise my pen too far and quick,
Innocent but perhaps make me weak.
Those that scraps and crumbs about me keep,
Slights and snubs of theirs do make me sick.
Journey’s end— end of all juice we sip,
Thanks Lord, ways of life winding to keep.
Willingly whose shoulders bear huge load,
Repeated rounds on load alas reap.
Showing me the way— where, how to walk,
Stumbling stones do love me all so deep.
Clueless worshipping chants those that rant,
Not vain is devotee’s temple trip.
Better be I feel my bare ego,
Not those that pride’s false airs puffed-up keep.
_____________________________________
In anapaest tri-meter, this piece was inspired by a Gujarati poem by Vicky Trivedi, but is no translation.
Ghazal |07.10.2021| Introspection
Poet’s note: World is nothing but illusion, they say. The ways of this world elude comprehension. What we see is no reality, and the reality is never seen. Apparent contradictions after all may not be so. This poet has a point to make on our world duality.
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