RING IN THE NEW : SONNET 66

It's no nonsense if you rang out THE OLD

With lots of feasting, funning and fanfaring,

In fury of mind if you screw'd stranglehold

Round the neck of fail'd year till its dying.

No joke, if now on carcas of the Dead,

You swear the new will be famously yours,

For in our will is our Lady Luck made

As builds up firmly a vanquishing force.

Alas, die away all on this very Day--

Our oath, our spright..., like surge of smoke after blast,

As daily fiends of own do squarely flay

Our life and future through the year does last.

Let our gifted life deliver its due,

With will to change us, do ring in THE NEW.

-- N. P. SAMAL

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I DO CRY : SONNET 59

I cry, I do cry breathless like a baby. You notice me or not but I do cry -- Whole drown'd in tears -- be it night or day it be -- No care if you find me absurd and wry. But I can't be unfair to cry, or vague If crying can protect me from strokes of death That nothing else on earth can, though I beg With my bowl'd palms held heavenward in good faith. Yes, I do cry (Whoe’er on earth will not With the betrayer's dagger stabb'd in heart?), But know my tears will flow all through the drought And grow new plants of love ere life does part. Maybe to kill the fatal pain the heart bears, Come out generously life-giving tears. -- N. P. SAMAL

TELL ME NOT

Tell Me Not Tell me not I was once a lad; An open sky that I once had, That offered me untold delight And lit my spirit day and night. Remind me not the days and nights That told me tales and flew my kites; Many a game that I did play With heart and soul unleashed and gay. Jog not my memory I once sailed Alone for miles and there beheld On either side, along the inlet, Many a willow and flowery thicket. Bring me not back the rights all lost, All things that came by free of cost; Affection, love, all poured on me, Even when I was wilful, naughty. I'm in my time, leave me to suffer From weakness, bloating, bugs, whatever: Let me be in my dying yard; But tell not I was once a lad. -- N P Samal

THE RETURN : RHYME 100

Infants gambol about their home With blooms and toys, But they return to mom's bosom For the real joys. Children frolic about the streams, In meads and hedges, But to their home they return for Their real flowerage. Youths do rush about crazy for World's whole treasure, But they return for real living To own life and career. Adults get sunk into the labour With dedication, But this's the return to raise well Their own children. The old trudge about the yard Of their nursing shed, But lastly they return for rest To their death bed. -- N. P. SAMAL

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