2 min read
Слушать(AI)My Dead Dream
VE
OU found me, at last,
O my Dream?
Seven eons ago You died and I buried you deep under forests of snow.
Why have you come hither?
Who bade you awake from your sleep And track me beyond the cerulean foam of the deep?
Would you tear from my lintels these sacred green garlands of leaves?
Would you scare the white, nested, wild pigeons of joy from my eaves?
Would you touch and defile with dead fingers the robes of my priest?
Would you weave your dim moan with the chantings of love at my feast?
Go back to your grave,
O my Dream, under forests of snow,
Where a heart-riven child hid you once, seven eons ago.
Who bade you arise from your darkness?
I bid you depart!
Profane not the shrines I have raised in the clefts of my heart.
Sarojini Naidu
Sarojini Chattopadhyay Naidu (13 February 1879 – 2 March 1949) was an Indian political activist and poet. A proponent of civil rights, women's e
Comments
You need to be signed in to write comments
Other author posts
Life
EN, ye have not lived, to you it seems Life is a lovely stalactite of dreams, Or carnival of careless joys that leap About your hearts like billows on the deep In flames of amber and of amethyst Children, ye have not lived, ye but exist ...
The Souls Prayer
In childhood's pride I said to Thee: O Thou, who mad'st me of Thy breath, Speak, Master, and reveal to me Thine inmost laws of life and death Give me to drink each joy and pain Which Thine eternal hand can mete, For my insati...
Village Song
EY, child, honey, child, whither are you going Would you cast your jewels all to the breezes blowing Would you leave the mother who on golden grain has fed you Would you grieve the lover who is riding forth to wed you
Indian Love Song
KE a serpent to the calling voice of flutes, Glides my heart into thy fingers, O my Love Where the night-wind, like a lover, leans above His jasmine-gardens and sirisha-bowers;
