Hope
BY MUTHU
VENKATESH
The Hope that lives with me,
Whom I have nursed always,
A changeling elf is he
Of unknown moods and ways.
All characters he can
With cunning simulate–
Now as a forceful man
My acts he will dictate.
Or cling with baby arms,
Fighting my gloom with wiles
And sweet infantile charms
Till I return his smiles.
Or else, with Puckish joy
He leaves me all alone
And acts the truant boy
While desolate I mourn.
Sometimes this Hope of mine
Assuming at his will
The form of God divine
Creates a world until–
So tangible and true
Seems his fair world to me,
This fades away from view
And only his I see.