THE CIRCLE OF ELATION

The clarion call whispers o’er the maladic blue
To add purpose to the sceptic’s reason
Upon the isthmus of decision, all conclude
That the stoic is the man for all seasons.

The soul decides as each pinnacle conceives
Its off-spring – to be wolf-fed
A lupercalian lashing from an ample nation
That a drowsy Caesar may be bred.

But like an ailing predator being mocked by its prey
Mortality dawns as a sleep
Its embers ignite the soul’s indifference
As homely joys pause to weep.

Like a song to myself which goes off cue
An awakening of the imagination
As the dew doth weep, the soul now sleeps
All to the circle of elation.

Copyright 2008 by Rennie Dhanoolal.

THE COCOON

Encased by matter foreign to me
The appearance of which announces much gloom
Stifled by its prevailing bands and weights
Being trapped in my cocoon.

A butterfly must supposedly soon emerge
But my form, I can’t readily see
So frantically I grope for the slightest fissure
Which will fulfil my desire to be free.

Yet people pass and look at my case
Seemingly disgusted at the sight
So added to my struggle for self-liberation
They add measure and weight to my plight.

Does it matter if I emerge a moth
My worth – can they not see?
Psychologically I’m now mentally unstable
No longer able to break free.

I’m at my lowest point yet I feel a surge within
A desire to reinstate
A craving, a longing, an urge within
To emancipate to pollinate.

This predilective presence powers my progress
As a catalyst to germinate the land
For the cocoon will no longer preclude my destiny
‘Cause I’m a wonder of God’s hands.

As the cocoon begins to tear, the sun peers in
Granting light that my eyes may taste
A comforting expression of God’s love for me
And a profound revelation of His grace.

Copyright 2008 by Rennie Dhanoolal.