I wrote this poem in 1984,16 years old. It is a tribute to all poets and poetesses, who transform their pain into beauty, enriching the lives of others. Read also The Artist from 1982, written at the tender age of 14 years.
The poet crystallized his pain
In the golden drops of wisdom
Which illuminated the pages
And shone in the dark of minds
A guiding, beckoning light –
Calling upon the recesses of
The human soul
To awaken again
From slothful slumber
And be aware of itself.
To achieve again
The glory of the past.
The poet wrote furiously on –
In each feverish movement
Of the hand
Was a silent, naked plea
To the soul of Mankind
To take rebirth
And cast away
Its ancient, tired body.
And those that heard
This noble command
Could sleep no more
In blissful ignorance –
Gone was the dream
Of benevolent darkness
And the harsh glare of Truth
Pierced the mind of Man.
The poet wrote on
And laid his life
On the altar of Glory –
The cries of his soul
Rang out through Time
And the poet became sublime.
Vanita Shukla Hork, 1984
If you liked this poem, you will enjoy my book Soul (Memories from another Lifetime). Available on Amazon, free on KindleUnlimited. Please do leave a review.
So eloquent and so deep. It’s stunning to think you’d written this as a teenager. Shades of Khalil Gibran…
Thanks so much, Jill! That’s a great compliment, I had not yet read Gibran when I wrote the poem 🙏
Sublime.
Thank you so much! 🙏
Agree, shades of Kahlil Gibran. This work must for sure have sprung from deep inside, maybe from your ‘higher self’
Thank you, John 🙏 I do feel now that some of my poems seem to be coming from somewhere else, maybe even another lifetime.