Ye let it flow, the bitter brine, let flow!
How long you hold it back, those snowy streams!
Don’t stop their course, until they touch your toe!
Your past congealed as solid misery
and present still a volatile daydream!
Ye let it flow, the bitter brine, let flow!
A stoic’s life is like a nestled bee!
Can’t stay away, the pouring pollen teems!
Don’t stop their course, until they touch your toe!
Philosophy apart, there still is fear
of death and disease. Let the cruel truth scream!
Ye let it flow, the bitter brine, let flow!
This life is pain muffled by pseudo cheer!
Let pain gush out to tell its tragic theme!
Don’t stop their course, until they touch your toe!
When you succumb to woe, a single tear
is your succor that spreads new beams that gleam.
Ye let it flow, the bitter brine, let flow!
Don’t stop their course, until they touch your toe!
Once an advocate, Sathya Narayana joined the Government of India as Inspector of Salt in 1984 and received two service promotions. In May 2014, he took voluntary retirement as Superintendent of Salt.
This poem, aside from whatever other criticisms might be levied on it, does not follow the formal requirements of a villanelle. The A lines of every stanza need to rhyme with the C lines, and you did not make that happen.
A true reflection of the mind of a common man. Great lines to read and ponder…
You are right Mr. C. B. Anderson. I don’t know how I forgot that. I haven’t tried this form many times. Here is another one which conforms to the format. In this try to find any other mistakes. I always love your criticsm and bluntness of expression.
PARANOIA
(Villanelle)
There devil’s set to jump through rear window.
Don’t let her venom drench your mind in fear.
Oh paranoia is same as dying slow.
A skept’cal mind is like a lone widow.
From glassy walls she looks a welcome mere.
There devil’s set to jump through rear window.
A feline crawls your way and caws a crow.
Behind your back ye feel someone so near.
Oh paranoia is same as dying slow.
To fearless eyes, world vows a steady glow.
An askant mind is but, a burrow blear.
There devil’s set to jump through rear window.
Your fear, as due presage begins to grow.
You see around a spreading eerie sphere.
Oh paranoia is same as dying slow.
You hear a million screams from heart hallow.
That raucous moot inside you can’t compere.
There devil’s set to jump through rear window.
Oh paranoia is same as dying slow.
This poem presents a gloomy picture of life at the outset, goes on to bear misery with stoic resignation and finally a beam of hope rises showcasing life in all its complexity. There is a suggestion that surrendering ego alone leads to bliss. Tears described as brine purge the soul.