MOHIT MITRA Poet Sonnet

Voice of Void

—Lines in Numinous—



Merci!—thy palm hath made a fool of fate;
each secret vein outwits the seer’s decree;
what mortal eyes would name, thou dost frustrate,
for none may read what will not yield to thee.

Thou’rt stranger than the vesper’s violet breath,
yet nearer than the pulse beneath the bone;
thou walk’st the verge where longing borders death,
and mak’st the dark disclose what none hath known.

I’ve watched thee enter waking hours that sleep,
and leave behind a light no tongue can name;
some numinous tide wells fathomless and deep,
then sets the blood’s forgotten stars aflame.

When each borrowed star doth fade into psalm,
thou art the ache, thou art the balm.





—Life in Note—



I thought the world had squander’d all her song—
linnet and thorn entwined in liquid prayer,
while crisp leaves whispered autumn’s brief-lived wrong,
and cataracts hurled thunder through the air;

argent aspen cast those trembling rays ,
a bee’s low diapason haunted thyme,
steeds tore the dusk asunder with their neighs,
whilst oceans breathed their vast, forgotten time—

then came thy voice, and all things lost their claim;
winds stood arrested; daylight paled and failed;
stars veiled their fires, abash’d before thy flame,
and every sound I worshipp’d sank and quail’d;

I sank, inebriate, where sound grew still—
and heard thy voice within my silence trill.

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