Chariot Of Sound

Sonnet

An ornamented chariot of sound I did once mount,
Riding upon a foam-crested waves of a storm,
Billowing plumes of splendorous hues all bright,
Flooding my heart’s gulfs with joy’s full sum.

I saw its wielders, players of tunes for battling gods,
They who sometimes descend, the cullers of ill,
Strung to a loud chant of war and decisive force,
Like harvesters of heaven come to earth fields till.

The lyre strings they held like a hero his sword,
A blur of swiftness and force passion laden,
Staging on a meagre podium sound unbound
Of gods warring beauty with bliss’ burden.

Oh, for all warring to be thus, of joy tangling joy,
A reckless rapture of Krishna’s peacock-crested ecstasy!