Memory is failing me many a time
On many a matter though a small one
Like many a slip between the cup and the lip
While taking coffee or tea!
Know not why even the letters of the words
I am not sure of to write, of late;
So lethargic and drowsy I feel as if
I have drunk lathe of the mythological era!
While meditating I muse over myriad matters
Good, great and beautiful;
But while writing on paper I fully forget
The plan of ideas to follow,
Which after fumbling many a time only
I find in frustration very often.
Also while talking with friends,
I fail to inform what I have written,
Which when they see in the book form
Feel unbelievable about my ability!
It’s easy to write, tedious to type, difficult to correct
But impossible to convince others;
Such is the profession of a philosophic poet
Who forgets often his own ideas!
For, Poetry is building castles in the air
And capturing them on the paper like
The photographer snaps the best scenes
And easily forgets only to remember
And appreciate their beauty and worth after the print!
Nothing new we learn, think, remember
And do most of the time,
But habitually we all do everything
Like the oil mongering bull;
This is what our tradition has
Trained us to be from the birth
And which is what our society too wants us
To do to be reliable to all!
That is why we fear to think new
And create good things in life.
Instead of a slave of habit all should
Rationally think new to be a human,
For, harmonious human perfection
Is the purpose of human life;
To do that, up-gradation of human life
Can only be the way to human progress,
That lies in true knowledge, relevant thought
And achievement of excellence in all.
So, in tradition bound duties,
If we spend the whole of our life,
How are we to achieve human perfection
Ever in the world life?
