Typal Trials

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Typal Trials

Sonnet — An Invocation to the Master #352

How gravely the dawn didst greet 
The waking eye with news of loss,
Gone a clause of the mortal contract,
Am now poorer in my human dross.

Hollow grows the embodied shape,
A mere name in time wandering
Like a living ghost or a secret hope
Awaiting its moment of flowering.

How many more typal trials yet remain,
Arjuna’s quandary on battlefield fatal
Or doom bestowed by Abhimanyu’s own
Or even Satprem’s woe we can’t equal?

Stay, O Sire, Thy sterner hand,
That Thou art Ānanda too I must remind.