The Meadow of Thought and Flame
A beautiful Poem By Dr.Lal Karun
I.
O Muse, descend! where daisies pale and wild
Bloom round a dreaming, earth-enamored child;
Her brow is bent in silent reverie—
She reads, and time dissolves in ecstasy.
II.
The sun has kissed her hair with woven gold,
The winds retreat, too awed to be so bold;
The air itself, in languor, seems to sigh—
And watch her eyes as thoughts go drifting by.
III.
The book she holds—what truths it softly sows!
What seeds of fire the human spirit knows!
She reads not words alone, but hearts and stars,
And drinks the light of truth through prison bars.
IV.
O tender child, thy soul is like the spring
That flows unseen, yet bids the forest sing;
Thou art the question earth hath dared to make,
And heaven trembles at the thought you wake.
V.
Is this the dawn of wisdom’s ancient flame?
Or love’s own root, too young yet free of name?
For in thy gaze a world begins anew,
Where silence speaks, and every petal’s true.
VI.
Thou liest not where idlers seek to dream,
But where the world and thought in stillness gleam—
Where Nature’s hand and human mind align,
And daisies write what sages call divine.
VII.
O purity! O seraph of the grass!
What moments in thy solitude shall pass?
What angels pause to see thee turn each page,
And whisper sonnets written age by age?
VIII.
The sky bends low to touch thy woven hat,
The sunbeams rest like kittens in thy lap;
And yet, thou think’st not of such gentle might—
Thy mind is far beyond the bounds of sight.
IX.
Is not the soul a meadow too, unstirred?
Till wisdom plants it with a single word?
And thou, sweet reader in the daisy field,
Hast made thy heart to truth’s commandment yield.
X.
The world would call thee idle, soft, and shy—
A bloom untouched beneath a vagrant sky;
But I, who see through deeper dreams than most,
Know well thou talk’st with time’s immortal ghost.
XI.
O Time! whose wings do scatter golden dust,
Thou findest here a moment worth thy trust—
For in this field, mid bees and breathless trees,
She shapes eternity in thought’s degrees.
XII.
What need hath she of court or city’s pride?
Her throne’s the earth, the clouds her guard beside.
What need of marble, gold, or canopy?
The winds are hers, and thought’s deep liberty.
XIII.
O Love! thou wanderer who seeks no name,
Thou, too, dost tremble in thy quiet flame;
Thou watch’st her hand turn pages in the light—
And feel’st thy fire grow soft with strange delight.
XIV.
O gentle reader, priestess of the breeze,
Who learns from birds and prays among the bees—
Know this: the cosmos, in its orbéd flight,
Revolves around thy undisturbed insight.
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XV.
Let men make war, let tempests rise and break—
Let gold deceive and heavy empires shake—
But thou, who reads with uncorrupted eye,
Shalt outlast all, though never crowned on high.
XVI.
A poet’s flame burns silently in thee,
Not sung, but lived, not chained, but ever free—
And in thy pause between two turning leaves,
Lie joys more rich than thousand royal eves.
XVII.
O what are laws, and towers, and fading creeds,
To one who hears what every daisy pleads?
She reads, and with each line, the stars descend—
A cosmos bending toward its truest friend.
XVIII.
What is the soul, if not a bloom too bright
To live in noise, but open in the light?
And what is truth, if not a whispered tone
Heard clearest where the heart can be alone?
XIX.
I see thee now, and centuries collapse—
As though the winds reverse time’s cruel lapse.
Thou art the girl whom Shelley once foresaw,
When he wrote hymns to beauty, thought, and awe.
XX.
No tyrant’s hand shall touch thy sacred mind,
No shadow fall that thou shalt not outshine;
For thou art made of breath, and fire, and sky—
A living stanza none can crucify.
XXI.
O leave her there, ye gods of haste and gain!
Let not the city’s iron mar her reign!
The world hath need of such as her to stand—
To dream, to read, to love without demand.
XXII.
And when the dusk doth stretch across the land,
And sun gives way to twilight’s lilac hand—
She’ll close her book with one last loving sigh,
And let her thoughts like fireflies rise and fly.
XXIII.
Thou art not lost amid the shifting dust—
But in thy heart lives knowledge, pure and just.
And if the stars fall silent in the night,
She shall recall their song, and write it right.
XXIV.
So rest, young seer, upon thy earthen throne,
For in thy stillness, greater truth is shown;
The world shall shout, but thou alone shall know—
That thought, not power, makes the spirit grow.
Please also read https://drlal.me/the-monsoons-wrath-upon-the-sea
