Poem By shyam prasad
How many times does one have to be imprisoned
To set someone free.
How many times must one lose his way
To find it for someone else...
Set loose from perfidy would I be free,
Free from the furnace flames, for restful death I cry.
Delivering me from conceit's stay;
The great leveller would find its say.
Like to the foliole in the toasted thicket rise,
So do bright fire at the grave,
Rise to sing the soul's enduring sight
To give it wings to fly at heart's desire.
Dreams we chase to the seam,
For chase is sweeter than the dream.