Munawar, The Bard Poem by Kumaara Sukeja

Munawar, The Bard

Rating: 3.0


MUNAWAR, THE BARD
How could poesy thrive
in the womb
of a piece of tanned, smelly hide?
It's an avowed secret-
one might admit,
albeit grudgingly- -
of the plier's trade- -
The cobbler's bone-hard, yet,
nimble fingers
are seen chiseling away,
with alacrity- -
pausing, occasionally,
to wipe the sweat-drops
off his eye brow- ,
While, privately,
his mind, fondly, recalls
the euphoric moment
of the AWAKENING
he had- -
many seasons ago- -
in the precincts of the town's tannery- -
Under the scorching heat
of its furnace,
it was, indeed,
a baptism by fire- -
That his robust frame would,
hereafter,
In the wake of his dreary daily toil- -
stretched, unrelentingly, by taut,
unforgiving skin
hardened up to the bone-marrow-
In the wee-hours,
host a poet, prim and proper
in a newly-cobbled veneer- -
Who would, by a cold-blooded choice...
Stay wide awake
with a pen for his new tool,
And, heed
the clarion- call
of his poetic conscience-
nascent, yet, committed...
to carry out to the last letter,
the commands of the Goddess of Muse!
The poet, who would pen- -
for posterity-
the hitherto untold tales
of the pain and suffering
of his generation- -
pictorial impact
of his graphic accounts
would display
his skills honed
to the letter'T',
Paradoxically,
perfected at the tannery!
The uncommon commoner:
people around soon noticed...
Here, he was,
cobbling together
colorful comfort-wear,
and, concurrently,
conjuring up
rhymes in rhythmic verses- -
mellifluous to their ears- -
with the versatility of a seasoned word-smith!
In earlier times,
he might have been labelled
a rebel in the eyes of the Custom- -
Soliloquizing in solitude,
and with a defiant passion,
etching metrical lines with an abandon
on the sooty walls of the tannery- -
his secure abode.
And, THAT was one 'hide-out'
the King's guards
would, never, dare to seek-
for the place's reeking reputation-
as was the popular belief-
had reached even
the portals of the purgatory!
The 'Master Book Of Verses', which,
the Royal Poets had reasoned- -
in their collective wisdom- -
our 'unlicensed' bard had,
in his possession-
In the present times
of cultivated civility,
their progeny
and other pretenders
are confined to ponder
privately or publicly,
a plethora of possibilities
that, in his hard to reign in
heart
flows
an unique plasma, which,
channelizes
the surge of creative blood
through
his 'unrepentant' veins, , ,
And, Munawar,
fumbling,
with a pair
of shoe-laces,
might,
simply smile
in modesty.
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. (C.) . KUMAARA SUKEJA. AUG.2015

Thursday, July 30, 2015
Topic(s) of this poem: goal
POET'S NOTES ABOUT THE POEM
This is the story of a maverick who chosen by the Goddess of Muse to be the 'voice' of the oppressed- - Munawar, the cobbler from a small town in Faisalabad, Pakistan.
COMMENTS OF THE POEM
Kelly Kurt 30 July 2015

A very captivating and well written piece, Kumaara

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