The Poet’s Song
by Fiza Pathan
The book of reason is ancient as the tide,
To me it is newer than these words upon my lips.
My pen deludes me as I compress its nib,
Upon the breast of this tender paper.
This is an unusual emotion of the poet in the hermitage,
The verses I have penned are now full of logical conclusions to me.
No more will destiny deceive me with its fair looks and painted smile,
Now I will control fate with my writing instrument and my bottle of black ink.
My new song is about the resurrection of the dead man’s soul,
And the serenade to a charming woman’s soft eyes.
This world cannot misguide me now,
I am the minstrel of eternal abundance.
My heart is that of the lyricist
And with my jingle I will sublimate my people’s cries.
I’ll tend to the papyrus of eternity, writing lengthy letters
To the muses of love’s holy temple.
By this my sacrifice in my plentiful stock, will aid me
To put away the faults of my own minds ancestors.
I will recite my poems in the street,
Sell them to the beggar free of cost.
Living on the supplies of the Heavenly Ghost,
I will devote my life to his renewal in the hearts of humankind.
I care not what my ailing heart can say,
Without free love the verseman cannot pour out
Any miraculous water from the spring of ideas.
So gentle Angel of mine, guardian so bright
Make me the copywriter of your overseer.
Is my lyric melodious to your soul and spirit,
Poignant is pain but pointless is pity’s unusual cry.
So now will I never let go of the bard’s bound work
I shall always write to the glory of the Order
Of the ageless wizards of Camelot.
I will search my spoils from previous wars,
And pen down a treasured line to you my Angelic Seraph.
I shall care not what lies beyond the veil of mist,
The future is yours but you are mine only for this day.
Just proclaim that I am the new scribe of heavenly thunder,
My words will run towards eternity……..and after.