Bricks Of Guilt Poem by Aniruddha Pathak

When wisdom weighed me down, I kept mouth shut,
So behaves one of three we call discreet,
Who never fingers of their own would cut,
Who'd let an axe fall upon one's own feet?

One, rather boneless, fumes; from within burns,
Oft blurting out words in impotent rage,
The rope when tightens still, he turtle turns,
Values in life look fine if free from wage.

World's ever been like this, believes the third,
Crows always would come black, why boil my blood?
A trickle soon turns into furious flood,
And how and why of values get nigh blurred.

We oft our own help a burial vault built,
Blissfully blind, we bestow bricks of guilt.
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An impotent little cry this might sound on what has been happening around in many places. Yet, we can blame none but ourselves. After all, we get only what we deserve.
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Sonnets | 04.07.13 |