Ephemeral Quill

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Ephemeral Quill

Sonnet — An Invocation to The Master #188

What is this then, this flesh draped frame,
Basis of becoming and bearing a name?
A versatile womb to gestate the soul,
An anomaly of a part bearing the whole?

Here are sediments of lives bygone,
Outline of writhing memories frozen,
Shrieks that were midway halted
And all the hopes that were felled.

Here too the heart that ever dares
To love through all mortal despairs;
Anguish, loss and unrelenting pain
Are to it like a dear heady wine!

Body is an ephemeral quill to Thee who writes
An episode of our story through innumerable lives.