Arise And Sing
Arise, arise O sleeping poet!
by George Abhayanand
Arise from thy grave and sing aloud,
For your people lie,
In peril, fear n horror
Craving for your scorching verses.
Young blood once hot and bold,
Now lie frozen and cold…
In fear and selfish desires
Bathed in comfort, shelled…
…Each one in their cozy zones.
Arise, arise and sing aloud!
Spit thy venomous verses around;
Once again may our blood, frozen, cold,
Melt, boil and make us bold.
May we feel the rush and gush
Of a thousand pumps of adrenaline.
May we shout and rise as one
And our voices echo your verses;
And form a chorus mighty and powerful
Like a huge wall of mighty ocean…
May it gush and rush to crush
All structures tyrannical and oppressive.
May it break a thousand chains,
To liberate a thousand souls…
And release a torrent stream,
That on oppressor, no tyrant can counter.
And may we grow roots,
Strong and firm, into the soil.
And may our boughs rise to the heavens
And embrace many a wandering clouds.
May we bear a thousand fruits;
Fruits of peace, love and humble service,
Bolstering humanity to be fully alive,
As willed by the Divine
When in paradise he fashioned us.
We shall, then, rise as one priesthood
Serving at the two-tier altar
Of divinity and humanity
With pride, courage and fearlessness.
But first! Thou O Poet, must rise
From thy grave and sing aloud
Thy blazing, blood- boiling verses
That we may rise from slumber
Deep and perilious as sin.
Rise! O Poet, O Prophet!
Arise and make us new!