Strange dire cries out of woes,Made those modest minds to think,
A Poet in his extreme vogue days,
Feigns deaf to human cataclysms.
Perhaps of prejudice of some kind,
Or predicament of the puzzling mind,
A novice, young man of words,
Brings no pathos in his songs.
Dear young girl, my heart goes for you,
As so still and calm you stood at storm,
To maintain the past, high esteem,
Of those people of your own blood.
O' pious little soul, are you content ?
But broken dreams are broken dreams,
Days to come will bless you with bliss,
By the sacred Thee's own grace.
(Dedicated to my friend, who was forced by the circumstances to marry the guy who was supposed to marry her elder sister, as her sister eloped with her lover on the day before the wedding. I salute her resilience and courage and her love for her parents)
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