Mahesh CR

Sonnet — Daily Poetry to The Master of Works #35

A ruined temple.

What scale measures the quantum of mercy
That in hourly alms is granted unto me?
Whose the hand that counts every grain
That seeds my soil yielding unfailing pain?

Whose the brow curved by a too cold light
That crowds with woe my daily sight?
Whose the lips that sneer and smile,
Laughing at my plight and relentless ill?

Who bleeds my dusks of all the vermillion
Leaving them pale with no passion?
Who now scours the last straggling breath
And meets me in silence sombre as death?

Wouldst Thou know O Sire the author who conceives
All my parts to match the grim grecian tragedies?!



Sonnet — Daily Poetry for The Master of Works #34


Halt, who comes in moments smile bearing,
A gaudy scent daubed for some low allure,
Masking betrayals with trinket of pleasure,
Away villain, bearer of duplicity conniving.

Who dispatched thee on this enterprise,
This devious game to pierce the fallen?
Dost thou box our each pitiable groan
And replay it for pleasure of pitiless ears?

Does He sneer, lips take a dagger’s curve
Savouring our anguish, kneading our lives
For a forbidden wine of the hell-grapes,
The basest yield that night doth have?

Linger then, gather a full bushel of our woes,
Ferment our plight for His choicest yields.



Sonnet — Daily Poetry to The Master of Works #33

A little remains of the little there was,
Of the prevailing ruin the useable sliver
Is now demolished for Thy wasting whims
And yet I must to old mores adhere?

Like a wayward wave engulfs the shore
Turning our lives its hunger’s food,
So is Thy will prowling this simple air
Relishing in our despair and ungood.

For Thine is the sceptre to flagrantly flaunt
And our knees only given to buckle and serve,
If such is the end deemed at the start
For what grand issue must we labouring prove?

Oh gloat, gloat in Thy white castle unassailable,
My last tear shall haunt the doors of Thy portal.



Sonnet — Poetry for The Master of Works #32

Rough Seas — Max Jensen

What perennial fruit is in ephemeral time
That in bitterness ever ripe always is,
How richly endowed by this sordid clime
That it the seedly cycle easily forfeits!

Who or what is this rising so full-born
Like a power typal from ancient waters
Or a wraith that a cold will did summon
As perfect in intent and deliberate ills.

For author there is no other of all here
But Thee and hence Thou must know
Who or what plots our black despair,
A vengeful god or some demon below.

But what of all the ransom in sweat and tears
That I have brought Thee over these wretched years?



Poem — Daily Poetry for The Master of Works #31

What is mine from here to give,
For all is Thine, the inanimate and alive,
And the bright coin and high nobility
Only by Thy name any shine carry,
All deeds, the high and the base
Come unto being only by Thy force,
So too every hymn and every ode
That erupts alive from Thy musing mood,
So, what can I ever give to Thee,
Thou who art all and even me!

But hear, one thing I alone can dare,
To bring all my mire to Thee in an absolute surrender!

Oh, even more for Thee I can do,
To steal this Thy wandering world and bring it back to you!



Sonnet — Daily Poetry for The Master of Works #30

What use to Thee am I as a lifeless ghost
Shorn of vitals, stripped of senses five,
Of conscious mind and thought bereft,
Unable to serve Thee tangibly and alive?

What use to rue like a Hamletian ghost
Of immoral couches and injustices done,
Is not late justice an aid most least,
Like wreath to a body with soul long gone?

What use to Thee am I as a hanger by,
Like a cold bright god to frame a scene
Who appears to gladden the common eye
When all toil is expended and the victory won?

Oh, let me not mar the splendour of Thy chamber
As a pitiful ghost struggling to secrete a ghostly tear!



Sonnet — Daily Poetry for The Master of Works #29

Painting by Priti Ghosh

Are we Thy devices to plumb the deplorable deeps,
A living gauge to measure the mortal condition?
Dost Thou watch in us the alarming parameters
And all the complications and consequences therein?

Are we Thy eyes that peeps over the precipice,
A living vision-scope to gaze at the ruin
That has gathered at the base of all lives,
The foul expanse and the detritus rotten?

Are we Thy emanations owning all burdens
That would baulk the wills of lesser men,
Is it why we are left without Thy cares
Lent to all that is, even to animal and demon?

Oh who shall doubt the soundness of Thy reason,
For of us none remains to perform that function!



Sonnet — Daily Poetry for The Master of Works #28

Photo by Inés Álvarez Fdez on Unsplash

Did I in some age long gone undone leave
Some grave penance to Thee foresworn
That Thou must such harshness conceive
To besiege all parts of my scanty person?

A maelstrom is upon every haggard limb
And breath to iron horses is tethered,
The mind is waned to an impoverished orb
And all works to futility is condemned.

I swoon and awake by involuntary motion
Like a lone migratory bird voyaging
Through cloud-besieged skies all alone
With no sight of a reprieve appearing.

Raise me now from this dismal groove,
That Thou couldst be merciful forthwith prove.



Sonnet — Daily Poetry for The Master of Works #27

Photo by Lasse Møller on Unsplash

Oh what wilt Thou do with too much virtue
Painting this earth with a lifeless white,
A single shade of the azure is no hue
To paint all world with Thy glory and might!

I am the cloudy mar on sky to besmirch
This sleeping dome with taunting dreams,
I am the crooked twist in bark and branch
Lending art to each Thy plant and trees!

I am the slant on this whirling globe
Conferring quaint grace to all space,
By me is scattered light of Thy orb
For painted dawns and dreaming dusks.

In every mar I sow, in every mar I reap,
I light a lamp for Thee our rendezvous to keep.



Sonnet — Daily Poetry for The Master of Works #26

Artist: Mahadevi Verma. Bengal School of Art School.

Oh the charters have all fallen,
The compacts honoured by birth and life,
Right of being and becoming undone
Leaving a gestalt of daily strife.

No more wanted in this world-nest
By world-forces that nurture all,
Am couched in this bowl of dust
Loathed in ways most surreal.

I stand tainted in this house of night
By the fatal mar of a faraway Sun,
The world is lost for a pinch of light
Leaving me with an unfair bargain.

Like a humble maiden by Thee a king taken,
Now am shunned by all, wanted by none.



Mahesh CR

Mahesh CR

Hi, I am Mahesh CR, Founder @tataatsu. I walk the borderlands between technology & spirituality. Follow @kalisbrood for Spirituality & Hinduism related topics