THE RASHNESS OF MY PEN
K. V. Ramana Rao
Can I, like Regan, tear a father’s heart?
Can I, like Shylock, love my pound of flesh?
Can I, like Iago, spill blood for art?
Can I, like them, bear Fate’s ensnaring mesh?
Can I, like Hamlet, consume away my spirit
In the fire of eternal thoughts of human frailties?
Can I, like the Moor, kill love in a soul- conflict?
Can I, like Lear, a child’s heart cleave and tease?
Something, some shade, moves there like a faint line,
Nearer it comes – I see a face divine,
Look there! Shakespeare is standing behind his children
Smiling gently at the rashness of my pen.