This is your Morning

a poem by Raghunandan Ram, India


My child, awake, awake
From anaesthesia of fake,
Trans of trapping trollop
Of garbling gusty gallop,
Lust tempered templates;
What Faustus stipulates
On sale of his soul pure
Of Arabia terror impure,
Dungeon darks of insane,
Smears of bloody profane,
My child, awake, awake
From anaesthesia of fake,
Lear’s egoistic terseness,
Damini’s untold helplessness,
Dido’s suffering to manliness,
Cleopatra’s tempting clutches
And from maddening churches;
Hold & behold you are driven
To slaughter’s house enliven
As the moths on lighted lamp
Enter the arena of death clamp,
My child, awake, awake
From anaesthesia of fake.
This is your morning,
Gentle breeze is blowing
In sweet sunny day flame
To lift and save from blame
& to play on love & beauty,
My child, awake, awake
From anaesthesia of fake.

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