In my bed, lying lonely, I can hear
The VOICE, so peculiar though familiar.
It seems as one of my old acquaintance
To which some word-mark as conscience.
Whatever it is but surely a hurdle.
Through the window, dawn I can see
The luxuries so tempting though sent-free.
I can smile for that, but to my sense,
Again when I return, for that VOICE thence,
Put ahead some stormy hardships.
On my way, when I walk, I can find
The sight, so ailing, though unkind
Become I to pay them my love.
Thence, the VOICE hurls my nerve.
There making my steps the bulky plods.
I know my SIN of day and dim,
Though my past was a gleaming beam.
I resist on collecting the snaps to meet.
Though my brain abridges the pit.
There making me aware for now.
(The composer of this poem, Arvind Lal Dass ‘moksh’ is a young man of 18 doing his B.C.A.from New Delhi. He started composing poetry at the young age of 13. His ambition in life is to become a poet and computer engineer) |
