Oh that the day may not break
For I have seen many days of sorrow,
The child of my youth has gone berserk,
He does not regard the breast that gladly fed him.
I would that the night never ends,
For 'tis a shame to behold his face at morn.
My head knows no sleep at all,
My eyes never stay dry in its bed,
Yet when my anger arises to lay a curse,
I hear same same voice,
So loud and clear:
"He is still the child of thy youth."
Maybe I should die before him,
Will that do?
Who knows, he might not even bury me!
May be I should go away to a far country,
Where all my sorrows shall be quenched,
who knows, he might not bother looking for me!
Here is the riddle I cannot solve,
Who knows the answer to my puzzle?
Yet these thoughts occupy my feeble heart,
And when I stir again on my bed, lo 'tis morn!
Then I pray silently within me,
God help me and also this child of my youth.
This poem might have more than one analysis. Please post your own version of the analysis it will allow other readers to comprehend. My own version of the analysis will come after because I want other analysis to be purely based on individual understanding. I think this will also help to enhance your creative abilities. Thank you.
ReplyDelete