The Lion in Love

Aesop’s Fable (47)

Love slays the mightiest heart; it does.

The barbarous jaws, eager paws,

And eyes with tremendous fire,

A lion ties no calendar or laws,

He kills in East and wounds in Shire!

Once ages ago, a lion fell in love

And demanded woodcutter’s daughter.

Ah! but the love was not any above

Of mere infatuation for the slaughter.

‘I want your girl as my wife’

Said the blind lion to the poor man,

For whom it was on his life

To deny the proposal of mighty insane!

‘Lust like glutton dies.’

The witty woodcutter found a way.

With humble guise in voice, he said:

‘O lion, my daughter fears the play

‘Of your sharp teeth and claws, so made

‘A pleading- you let me take out

‘The agents of fear- the teeth and claws

‘And she will end her fearful bout

‘To swear with you the marriage vows.’

The wanton, the lewd, without any delay,

Was ready for his Pride and Life

To be very easily taken away,

For nothing but a ‘mere’ wife!

Losing thus the pearl, the clam went

Without guessing the certain loss

That fate for him would invent.

Days passed, the lion came

Back with his demand with pride,

Alas! He returned with guilt and shame

Instead of smiles, gain and ‘mere’ bride!

Sunday, 10 November 2013

Mighty and the Weak, A poem by Alok Mishra

Mighty and the Weak

Difficile est proprie communia dicere.

In solace of night, two tormented fought

Over the issue of right to exist,

It is though accepted, anticipated and sought,

Weaker for the stronger is always a feast!

Poor candle with her tender light,

In the dense dark, served a sight.

Mighty wind with his bloody eager sword

Was ready to slay the sweet poor chord.

‘Pardon me, my frail existence, show mercy

‘O broad chested, O devouring wind

‘Omit me of your morsel, set free

‘I beg you… my life, not you grind!’

Pleaded thus, she stood calm, and did wait

For the reply of her piranha, her fate,

And he, the swollen might, in anger tried

To make her afraid, he thus replied:

‘I’m mighty; I love mighty; you be mighty

‘Or I slay you, you feeble poor creature!

‘To do you justice, to endure propriety

‘Are for the mighty like me just a torture!

‘To maintain peace, you weaker must die

‘And with peace and hope in grave lie!’

The gentle flame, the thin spirit, the brave soul

Boldly stood but in calm pose she listened his whole.

‘For the perils like you, might is right.

‘In His abode, where justice happens always,

‘Still the echoes say that right is might,

‘There devils are imprisoned and put in cage.’

The candle, true and upright, but weak,

Said these in her tender voice, so meek.

Arrogant and wild, the mighty wind lost sense,

For the thirsty of blood, nothing is offense!

With a blow, he collected some dry leaves

And pushed the innocent flame over them.

Pathetic! How one of her life he bereaves

With no regret, no mercy, and no shame!

The melting candle, dying of enormous pain,

Thought she how her stronger sisters grew insane!

‘How your beautiful earth will survive?

‘Shall you see with silence, or thrive?

‘If your world is for the might and power,

‘Why do you make creepers sans bower?’

With these words, she melted; she did die!

But she left questions to God, to be done.

The God who sits and watches all from high

The world that with same Moon and Sun,

To escape from these questions always does try…

Alok Mishra

28-07-2013