Hibernating on
a Becalmed Sea
Prof. P. P. SHARMA
I don’t mind having to remind you
for though you can yourself recall
if you so wish, you quite approve
of our doing so. A child must cry,
you have said, before the mother,
putting aside all her chores, rushes
to feed her. So, my Master,
The very first prayer I had made
was for the strengthening of my faith.
Great was your bounty and you
submerged me in a high flood of devotion.
You gave me so much of yourself:
When I walked through the pathways
of the world, all looked strange,
because all that I felt as mine
was centred around and drew
its sustenance from you.
Of late that music has stopped
which comes out of a tightened drum.
The sails once fluttering in a strong gale
are now hanging low and limp.
The cord has loosened.
The bow no longer high strung
helpless to produce the twang.
Unless you unleash the breeze
The vessel will run aground
the flame eager to rise upwards
and caress your hallowed precincts
will splutter out and die.
Turn in on me the fire
that will make me sparkle, albeit for a moment,
with gem-like intense luminosity,
for it boots not hibernating
on a becalmed sea.