Forgiveness
Forgiveness
In clear daylight, in the midst of school hours,
Several children, blooming like flowers,
Were shot without remorse by a wild guy
With a machine gun, amidst roaring cries;
The act, seemingly committed for fun,
Wrested away my only cherished son,
Snatching off his bright laughter, soft and low,
Together with his memorable glow;
My heart, broken to pieces, pines with pain,
With streams of sad sorrow pouring like rain,
My son's screams echo in depth of my mind
At thought of his precious life left behind.
Justice may jail the folk for twenty years,
But will not wipe away flow of my tears,
Yet an inner voice hints hate won't bring back
The shining treasure I have lost, in fact.
The man who committed the awful deed
Seems to have sown sad sorrow like a seed,
Forgiveness appears like a distant dream
Flowing away like a fast rushing stream.
But in the deep quietude of the night
I muse on forgiveness that may shed light
On my mind, dispel the wrath from my heart,
With my life sign a pact for a new start.
I muse on peace, forgiveness may confer
To the sinner in jail and would prefer,
At long last, he turns over a new leaf
With spring's new sunshine and humane belief.
I muse on goodwill, forgiveness would spread
Around in life , drive out the spear of dread,
And, though the tingling pain will ever stay,
Herald for one and all a brighter day.
I muse on forgiveness divine trait, bright,
The Lord's only Son, lashed and nailed upright,
Letting go the heinous acts of vile hands
Who on the cross spiked a deific Man.
Forgiveness sparkles, not for the culprit,
But for the self, elevates the spirit,
Where lies a distinct joy in letting go
And allows life's currents, forward to flow;
The pain may endure, like faded flowers,
But now new strength will grow hour after hour,
Burden on the mind will be hurled aside,
With hope the spirit will shine far and wide.
Forgiveness does not rhyme with condolence,
But reveals the bright sparks of endurance
To face the unforeseen sorrows of life,
To ride on one's journey despite all strife.
Copyright ©
Krishnanand Guptar
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