Wednesday, July 26, 2006

A Writer's Sonnet

Why am I a writer?
Why must pen scratch paper?

What is it that makes me
Want to tell a story?
Why think of truth, beauty,
Hope, error and duty?

Why not live, love and die?
Why tell the reason? Why?

Because in a story
Thou art freed from worry
For an hour thou art free
And then truth shall claim thee.

So ink must blot paper,
That's why I'm a writer.

I've violated all rhyme schemes here, following a (perhaps labored) scheme of aa bbbb cc bbbb aa. Does it work?
(BTW, Aliscia and Sunisha commented before I revised this post.)

Saturday, July 22, 2006

Monsoon Sonnet

Hurrah! The rains are here!
The dream that every tree has seen
To dress in everlasting green;
The hope of every sown seed,
Of every herb and grass and weed,
Of parched street and thirsting town,
Of starving ryot and taxing crown:
Is sated now, there is no fear.

The drops of life fall sweet and clear!
His time has come, he's waited long:
The frog croaks forth his eager song!
With joy does every little child,
Frolic in mud, get wet, run wild!
Hurrah! The rains are here!