Poem

Symphony
How little do I know of the great globe !
The cities, capitals spread o’er throughout,
The monumental feats of men,
The rivers mountains oceans and sands –
The mystic creatures, trees and plants
Rest unveiled to me.
This globe is enriched in diversities; unless
My mind can occupy only a component there of;
So, I do got through the books depicting
Narratives on travelling – far and wide
Even for a partly repose of the heart’s wound
In gumptious zeal.
Therefore, the picturesque sights and sounds
Wheresoe’er they are found, I cull –
And consequently the cup of my measur’d knowledge I fill –
By beggarly procurements.
I’m a poet for the globe
My lute catches the notes mused everywhere
And plays them in warbling symphony.
But still I know, there remains
Many un-noted strains
In that harmony.
How my heart with pleasures has filled
On the wings of Imagination
Catching alone the melodious notes –
I feel; the warm invitation to my higher self –
The silvery peaks amid the retirement of the vast azure,
Hadst sent me, time and again,
Through unheard indications.




The unknown star o’er the South Pole
expending sleepless night in the darkest solitude,
By the ray screne –
The frothing fountain at the remotest
Hath sent me words at the surpass
In the deepest fathom of my mind.
Unto the everflowing symphony of Nature
In mingled directives and in chequered ways.
Enstringed with them I feel akin
Enjoying in the making and dipping into
The beauteous forms of the Eternal Songs.
Man is the remotest in his at bottom
Remaining unmeasured by external things;
He is all the heart,
Unveiled to him only who deserves
By mingling his own.
Oft subscribe I missed the path,
Encumbered by high plunder
And dignities of my livelihood.
The ploughman ploughs the field
The weaver weaves the loom
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