From this desolate land of sun,
To my dream’s own land of rain,
I’m flying soon, to have some fun,
Just to return, with all hopes in vain.
This land has a firm grab on me,
Pulling me back, making me creep,
Raising this sapling, not to a giant tree,
Making my roots sprout into it deep.
I crave to be in monsoon’s land soon,
I’m waiting to get wet in heavy rain,
And to listen to the music of monsoon,
And to meander in the lands that I reign.
Give me back my childhood and its joy,
Albeit it be short-lived, imitation, or brief;
Like the wars for beauty in legends of Troy,
I’ll tussle for the juvenile joy to win the relief.
Keeping the busy schedules of life on hold,
Let me live in the times of yore for a moment,
Recalling the child’s joy, before I grow too old,
Let me dwell there in peace, though for a moment.
1 comment:
Da wonderful exposition. Awesome. I feel just like reading any established classical poet. Just a few literary suggestions:
> could have avoided "the" in the first two lines using your poetic license. It would have given it more flow and kept the line in perfect tetrametre.
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