Treasure Island

shveta sahal


The Bard


The Bard ensconced crooning on the guitar,
Of kings and kingdoms and shepherds plenteous,
Opulence and beatitude and abjection and pang,
The story of mankind in its lanes and by-lanes.
With cherubs and dames and greybeards around,
All stupefied and beguiled with sheen in their eyes,
To his fables and legends that reflected their lives.

The Bard ensconced crooning on the guitar,
Till the drowsy sun slept and the moon ensued,
Burnishing the night sky with its charming semblance,
Relinquished by those who doted on his lyrics.
When I heard him murmuring the song of life,
Smiles obliterated and tears conferred by compeers,
Smiles conferred and tears obliterated by outlanders.

The Bard ensconced crooning on the guitar,
Of the wounds that led to changing lives,
Of the charities bestowed by unknown populace,
Of the rains that accorded greenery to fields.
Praising the invisible rapturous hands of love,
Eulogizing the unconditional ubiquity of hope,
Applauding darkness to transpire the light.

The Bard ensconced crooning on the guitar,
When men tussled with destiny to surmount,
When determination humbled all nefarious,
When humanity confounded even the invincible.

Submitted: Friday, May 31, 2013
Edited: Thursday, September 05, 2013

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