Remotely Queued
So long,
So long has been his refrain
From sinful wrong,
Still his righteous paragons, now besieged in bane,
Are seemingly unable to fuel this honest man’s motionless train
His hands - only too close to the nearest chain.
So futile,
So futile has been his valorous voyage
Traversing many a mile,
That never has any laurel graced his life’s dreary pages
Never has any triumph adorned the gates of this sage,
His chest only just holds the overflowing rage.
So patent is his spirit, irrefutable is his belief
In his Lord, of whom he claims to be the son
That the most incorrigible devotees of God
May even question the existence of one.
Forlorn,
So forlorn has been his path
That hopes have met scorn
Still the heart of this godforsaken loner tames its fuming wrath
For he won’t let the sun set on his yacht
Which he will station only on the steps of reward.
So long,
For so long have his efforts yielded unjustifiable distress
That his aching eyes long,
That his jaded body pleads for success
The taste of which has eluded the drying lips of his quest
But so long, so long is the road before he rests…
Copyright © Angad Singh | Year Posted 2007
|