The Poet Of The Poets.
From The Compunction Of My Course.
I owe to some prose-poets,
As Joseph Conrad and Orwell are,
Whose purgatory in candle light,
Spark wide and far.
The bivalent beep of some cloned poets,
And the fumes from their romantic delirium ,
As Homer and Dante in their heavenly hells,
Pollute and dilute the ‘might have been tales',
Erect debris to bar the path of knowledge,
And draw phantom tree with painted foliage.
My reading of Swami Vivekananda unlocks,
The realm of truest poetry that vainly attempt the folks.
Poets if are the members of Visio-psychic Unconscious,
Then they must brush a line of divine Touch.
While I read Tagore's Gitanjali, I feel some flashing lights,
And from our dark abbey, the hidden poet comes aright.
A word from Sri Ramakrishna leads us to the Truth's door,
We begin to discover ourselves -poetry no more! ! !
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem