Death seizing me one day, mourn me no more,
Let me leave this vain world free from all woes,
Let me go seasons as have from this shore,
And bid goodbye to my soul as it goes.
Quiet a leaf gets born, gets yellowed gray,
No reason why man be so noisiest--
Aloud when born one uneventful day…
Loud again when goes, what a grumbling guest!
And so if ye happen to read these lines,
Life-less when I lie to disintegrate,
Let me leave ‘pon this place no telltale signs,
Let all of my memories dissipate.
Fains if one so chooses to love my pen,
O love the labour of my love if can.
____________________
Sonnet | 12.11.2008 | death, love, memories, pen, poet
Note: This sonnet talks about how a poet wants to be remembered when he dies— like a passing season that goes, no fuss. If at all, love and remember ‘my poems’, more than me.
The day was turning to evening,
Dusk primed to play a short inning,
Worried, the sun was wondering…
Darkness shall ere long shroud the Earth,
Fains should this be my empty mirth,
Who’d ferry forth my duty’s worth?
Cautious, a clay lamp comes forward,
This may sound big mouth, vain a word
To light up all of the vast world,
But I feel sure, do my small worth
And perk up a patch upon Earth--
What I’ve done ever since my birth.
….
And watching all this I felt small:
My light within-- as oft I call,
What have I done with, if at all?
I love light but scarce keen to burn
And give light, gratefulness to earn,
Keen, away from duty to run.
______________________
Musings | 24.10.2025 | lamp, light, tercet
Note: The festival of light is being celebrated in India. But the traditional clay lamps of oil are increasingly getting forgotten and gaudily flashing eye-irritating electric lights take their place, and my thoughts reach out to clay lamps which have been doing a great job ever since early civilization.
You men, having come from the martial Mars,
Us women from fetchingly cute Venus,
Do for long engage in a game of spars
And there’s li’le change in this mutual status.
For, feigning love no more than carnal sex,
Man’s for long sharpened his pyrrhic war axe,
To get loved whilst the fair sex has paid tax,
Praise be, pretender that no genius lacks!
Conjugal life centres round, what else, sex,
If we believe what an expert sayeth,
Fains if there be freedom from sex or tax,
Cometh liberation only at death!
So then, there's un-spelt avowal of truce,
Abundant surges still conjugal juice!
_____________
Expert sayeth: Havelock Ellis and others on the subject of sex
Sonnets (Tongue-in-cheek) | 01.08.05 |
Looking for the formal definition, structure, and history of this poetry form? Visit the Poetry Dictionary entry below. Then return to explore how PoetrySoup members bring the form to life through their own poems.