a poem by Sakshi Prashar

The bond solemn
Richness better-desires consoled
World to mar, may
A stone in way or boulders bold.
Gifts, chairs and tables
All the tongue could turn
The leaves were green, are
But never ‘the special one’.
Pages bound had the good
Neighbour did not say
For the stick fear was
The cats mew and donkeys bray.
Good if lost, the ridges built
Nights if short, if deafening quietness
Pen to help, sort
What use of the richness?
Rest goes wild, as heard
Dreams dreamt be pleased
If it could build a passion house
The love, the self be ceased.
‘Life’ wasn’t used, not wanted
How could it be said
Before the end could come, doesn’t
Ended the daily bread.
A preacher’s work
To heed the poor and rich
But to confess the truth, must
Parents do not ditch.