Sonnet — Daily Poetry for The Master of Works #38

I have so willingly parted with the world
For Thy spirit’s riches aplenty:
I marvelled at Thy blue and sky
For dreams enchanted of Thy immortal scent.

In waking or when drowned in the mire
A sense of Thy sun my nourishing mead:
Thy spirit moves me heavenward towards Thy light,
While Thy feet pummel me down to dungeons dire.

I parley with Thy spirit in my enamoured sanctum,
My heart turns to Thy sunshine and bliss:
I wrestle with Thee still and refuse Thy kiss
In my moorland of pain and demented dream.

At times I wake up in Thy breast and wonder,
“Aren’t Thou and I one spirit here and yonder?”

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Poetry — Daily Poetry for The Master of Works #37

A brilliant edifice of mind stood still
Like a dream-shape of perfect measure:
In it lurked a spirit and a soul,
Two in one in an infinite hour.

One measured the flow of Time,
While the other measureless remained afloat.
A Godhead drew himself to dust and grime,
And spirt and soul grew unbounded.

Now the edifice unbridled and gold-limbed,
With a master-form myriad-hued.

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Sonnet — Daily Poetry for The Master of Works #37

A fallen Peacock feather #Midjourney

Oh I have perused all Thy alphabets
And all the manner of their wielding,
Lettered in stone and wind-taunted trees,
In bodies broken and in fates whirling.

Oh I have gleaned all Thy words
And their faces vacillating, innumerable,
Planting on utterer a black poison kiss,
Marking our heads with the seal fatal.

Oh I have gleaned all Thy verses
Bringing dire whispers to singe the heart,
Thy meanings dance with our blindness
While slaying our last dream in this night.

Yet to Thee, O my Lord and King and Emperor,
I light this prayer in the confines of a fugitive hour.

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Poetry — Daily Poetry for The Master of Works #36

A pivot of all my stumblings
Upon Thy spirit’s pedestal stands erect:
Not just great timber or polished edifice,
But a firm ground of Thy marvellous spirit.

All Thy works into me pour and relish,
Like dreams cast into a waking hour of Thy bliss.

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Sonnet — Daily Poetry to The Master of Works #35

A ruined temple.

What scale measures the quantum of mercy
That in hourly alms is granted unto me?
Whose the hand that counts every grain
That seeds my soil yielding unfailing pain?

Whose the brow curved by a too cold light
That crowds with woe my daily sight?
Whose the lips that sneer and smile,
Laughing at my plight and relentless ill?

Who bleeds my dusks of all the vermillion
Leaving them pale with no passion?
Who now scours the last straggling breath
And meets me in silence sombre as death?

Wouldst Thou know O Sire the author who conceives
All my parts to match the grim grecian tragedies?!

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Sonnet — Daily Poetry for The Master of Works #34

Courtesy Midjourney.com

Halt, who comes in moments smile bearing,
A gaudy scent daubed for some low allure,
Masking betrayals with trinket of pleasure,
Away villain, bearer of duplicity conniving.

Who dispatched thee on this enterprise,
This devious game to pierce the fallen?
Dost thou box our each pitiable groan
And replay it for pleasure of pitiless ears?

Does He sneer, lips take a dagger’s curve
Savouring our anguish, kneading our lives
For a forbidden wine of the hell-grapes,
The basest yield that night doth have?

Linger then, gather a full bushel of our woes,
Ferment our plight for His choicest yields.

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Poem — Daily Poetry for The Master of Works #35

All Inspiration comes from Thee,
Words draped in gold, silver and purple:
All Speech Thy gift unto me;
Out of Thy silence I joyously babble.

My heart is Thine, my body Thy temple;
Am a bright scribe of Thy impetuous will.

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Inevitable Word

Inevitable Word is a pedestal for the newer forms of Poetry, Prose and literary Criticism. It is an attempt to bring into every manuscript the inevitable word and expression of the Spirit, as may be found in the Vedas, and more prominently, in the works of Sri Aurobindo.

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