Pale Boons
Poem — An Invocation to The Master #227
Published on December 25, 2021
Pale Boons
Poem — An Invocation to The Master #227
How blind was I to rail at Thee for long,
Haranguing Thee for all my sore lack,
When all these contraries did bring
A splendid yield of Thy own make.
Such a miracle all these Thou hast endowed;
A mind like a bird to soar the skies of light
With wings to sail the currents in solitude,
A sheer eagle scanning the muse’s height.
My heart hath ears for Thy every song,
To the pathos and the deep melancholy
It brings its voice and in silence doth sing
Adding to that melody its own poignancy.
My sinews are now strings on body’s harp,
Taut and finely tuned for Thee to strum,
Thy rapture’s fingers by them do ope
The gateway to bliss that is Thy home.
Yet these boons in insignificance do pale
When Thou didst choose in my heart to dwell!
To Thee all my lives are no recompense,
In lieu is Thine my gratitude in human tears.