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Prashant Wason Poem
Once upon a time,
In a world without rhyme,
Through towns of no chime,
A boy’s faith became sublime.
The boy was as children all,
Jolly, playful, eager to fall
On beds of roses, grasses dewed;
Listen to tales as grandma sewed.
The boy was but deserted,
The night blowing cold.
A moan him alerted,
Found a beast of old.
Its leg was crush’d neath a rock,
It wore a necklace like a lock.
The boy called for help,
But onlookers just did a yelp.
The beast was horrid,
The boy wanting to care.
When the stone had been rid,
Curse uplifted, emerged the king’s heir.
The boy was surprised
As the prince cried,
With tears of joy and hope;
For he knew the boy could cope.
He then led the boy on a tiring trip,
So that he could, his power grip.
On arrival he said,
“I know of a great treasure, laid.”
The boy excited, asked about it.
Found the answer, “In caverns unlit.”
The prince told giving him a map,
“Tread the path of this heavenly quest,
Through a final task, a sacred test.”
The boy followed the map,
Never waiting for a nap.
Around the world he went;
His power, he lent.
He became a man, grew older,
Still walking the road,
He provided to people a shoulder,
Always keeping to the code.
He aided the helpless on his way,
They remember him selfless to this day.
At last, he reached it,
The end, which was where he had started.
The prince met him, opened the lock.
Inside golden letters etched in block:
“Light the way of another,
That is life, my brother.”
The old man, once a boy understood,
He breathed deep, his soul was soothe.
He thought of the lives he had saved,
And great treasures he no longer craved.
Copyright © Prashant Wason | Year Posted 2017
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Prashant Wason Poem
Faceless Perceptions
Let’s not judge others by their looks
They are like those unread books.
Do I really know him by just looking at him?
Is he wise, kind, naïve or dim?
Do not judge one by appearance
Is it not deep ignorance?
Not looks but her work defines her…
Her strengths, her morals, her character.
Oh! He’s not smart. He’s a coward
but his skills could lead him skyward.
Yes, he may deem as one who tends to bend…
But like us, he is also god-send.
Have you stepped into his shoes?
‘cause if you had, you would get the clues.
We don’t know, what is held within
Is he a gem or has he committed a sin?
For, to some, books are gates to lands of pleasure
Keys to heavenly treasure;
To others, they are drab manuscripts of text,
Just picked up one and muttered next.
Then, why is it so?
Does anyone know?
Yes indeed!!!
To each to his own.
Let’s not be insensitive but be kind,
Everyone’s story has a story behind…
It could be the story of a villain, a hero, a bully, a lover;
And thus, one cannot judge a book by its cover.
Copyright © Prashant Wason | Year Posted 2017
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Prashant Wason Poem
The Devil’s Depth
A box without hinges, key or lid
yet gloomy treasure inside is hid.
Unseen, Unheard
It lurks within.
Chained now, when unleashed
Does a sin with a grin.
Its wrath none can escape
It gives life, a death shape.
A veil of mystery it drapes
an aura of anguish surrounds its cape.
It has the strength
that cannot be bought.
Its eyes have wraith
that cannot be fought.
It lies in wait
for some suitable bait.
It decides your fate
destroying, who create.
It is a recluse
never set free and loose.
Or is it a knight?
knowing how to fight.
Heartless yet alive,
it is ready to dive.
Deeper it goes
and gets to the lows.
Lonely it sails,
behind all, yet unseen it tails.
Lonely it flies
in the sky of lies.
In the heart of men,
terror it brings.
No one ever found its den
every temple it dings.
It is distraught
often never caught.
It is a bane
in the minds of sane.
It takes all blame
Intense is its destructive flame
Impossible to tame.
Punish, punish! The angels claim.
Alone it dwells
in the deepest of wells.
Alone it mourns
where light cannot be shone.
It’s doomed for life
it can neither live nor die.
It didn’t even say goodbye
cause’ its heart is full of strife.
O! What is this thing?
Not to be found on Bing.
Did I not hear someone sing?
Yes, it is there to again dare
God! Who knows where?
Copyright © Prashant Wason | Year Posted 2017
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Prashant Wason Poem
Walk an Extra Mile
The day has drawn,
Far is the dawn.
With eyes of regret,
Sleep you get.
For you feel,
Effort is vain.
The jaws grip the eel,
Harsh comes the pain.
You think all is lost,
You can’t accept that high a cost.
You wake up, beads of sweat,
Then a shaky sigh you let.
You believe it can’t be done,
That your work won’t be fun.
That it takes too much time,
A waste, not worth a dime.
It takes forever,
To make a piece,
That is mentioned never;
Faith calls forth a tease.
Whenever you sense so,
Open your eyes, don’t sink low.
Don’t you leave,
Rotten fruits is all you cleave.
Don’t walk away,
No, not on the final step.
Do not lose your way,
Complete the trek.
Whenever you feel like giving up,
Stop, never drink from that poisoned cup.
When you wander and sway,
Always remember, Rome wasn’t built in a day.
Copyright © Prashant Wason | Year Posted 2017
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