Saturday, September 29, 2007

Sonnet-1

Bow down, arrogant soul
In sadness' tell, I, a weighing heart carry,
Such threads enweaved, held in another's clasp.
Every smite a painful tonne's decree
To buckle, founder, but bear all's rasp,

For in Fate's tutelage, love's a queer whip
That bringst little joy but anxious wantings.
Dare a moment of trust lie sweet on Time's lip
The next shall cleave, lese majesty it brings.

Myriad ferules make coral scars common
And mind sillies to seek purpose in pain.
What such life heralds, what seeks the soul broken
Will one ever know, what be good Fortune's bane?

When grey sorrow bows to a blacker one,
Sole joy I limn in grief's colourful run.

3 comments:

  1. Parvati2:15 PM

    Good Bye, Shakespeare; enter Eroteme ;-D!

    Splendid effort indeed - I am assuming it is a first for you? Let me delve deeper into it -

    1. A trivial point, not at all vital or essential, but contributes for ease of reading - couldnt you have given a space between the quatrains&/or couplet?

    2.Archaic expressions, though not entirely as old as Shakespeare's, nevertheless gives the impression of a work from the 13th century. I don't mean it as a negative remark, very much to the contrary - I like the language and words you have adopted, and find them enrapturing and captivating.

    3. Well. Every line and its words please, and are quite beautiful.

    4.The thought behind the lines is also profound and shows the poet's sensibility of love and ever recurring pain - 'what seeks the soul broken', 'what be good fortune's bane', 'grief's colourful run', 'love's a queer whip' -

    # The first quatrain is wonderful, but hey, the second one too is.

    # All in all, this sonnet augurs well for you as a sonneteer. I am glad to have read this on a lazy sunday noon. It takes me to another world of knights and ladies lost in love and pain and lost too to the world mundane.

    # More awaited beyond Sonnet1. Hope 2, 3 and all else follow in sweet succession. :-)

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  2. Parvati2:25 PM

    Oh, before I forget, the image of Atlas still unshrugging is appropriate to a T. And so, did the arrogant soul bow down at all? Or is he still proud and intransigent without all the suffering forcing in him a humility supreme?
    Are suffering and pain meant to make us humble at all? And are pride and arrogance always engendered by success and happiness in life and this world?

    Maybe we should ruminate on such stuff when we have the time and the inclination.

    # Why not get off the morbid 'high' (since we are in the arrogance+pain mode)horse, and try another sonnet that is jaunty and chirpy about all things trivial and light?

    In other words, bring me back to the bright psychedelic lights of the 21st century from the medieval values/experiences of 'myriad ferules' and 'coral scars'?

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  3. Dear P,
    Good ol' Bill is for time immemorial; I am but a fiddler on the roof! But you jest well! :-)
    It is indeed my first and I suppose it shows.
    I hope it makes easier reading now.
    Archaic expressions!? But isn't this blog strewed with grey hair and toothless chatter? :-)
    I am not sure whether pain and suffering are meant to make us humble. I suppose that is the ploy of a maternal mind to coax us on with life's vagaries.
    I am glad you liked this attempt of mine. I hope to write more later...

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