The
Circular Forms Trilogy
A
Rondeau, A Rondelle and A Rondeau Redouble
1.
ROUGH TIMES
The
times are rough so men will die
Oh,
women too, and children, cry
As
much as your limits allow
Cry
out while still you may as now
The
times are rough
Times
will be rougher by and by
And
you may be stifled mid-sigh
No
frown may then wrinkle your brow
Times
will be rougher
You
want to keep your powder dry
But
do you not see moments fly
That
will never return so how
Do
you propose to keep your vow
To
keep the flag of freedom high
When
times turn rougher?
By and by.
( A
Rondeau with one extra refrain line )
2.
THE FUTILITY OF EXISTENCE
The
whole of life seems futile at the end
That
is if you get time to think it through
For
how long life will last is beyond you
No
minute can you shorten or extend
Though
it’s part of our nature to pretend
That
somehow everything has some value
The
whole of life seems futile at the end
That
is if you get time to think it through
Admittedly
it’s very hard to view
All
that you are as just an accident,
But
equally it’s silly to contend
That
you know when in fact you have no clue
That
is if you get time to think it through .
The
whole of life seems futile at the end.
( A
Rondelle )
3.
WORLD
WEARINESS
O
Weary Weary Day ! When will you pass ?
When
shall I feel the coolth of Night again ?
When
will the Dew renew the sun-scorched grass ?
When
shall I feel some easing of my pain ?
My
eyes are sore waiting for Night in vain
They
hurt as though they’re full of broken glass
And
I repeat the same plaintive refrain :
O
Weary Weary Day ! When will you pass ?
Why
does each day more agony amass ?
Why
do I always lose every bargain ?
I
give Life’s gold and get only Sun’s brass :
When
shall I feel the coolth of Night again ?
My
flowers wither for lack of sweet rain
My
life seems to have reached a strange impasse
The
buds of Hope are shackled in Fear’s chain
When
will the Dew renew the sun-scorched grass ?
I
sink deeper into the dread morass
I
bear on my forehead the Mark of Cane
Guilt
and Despair my captive soul harass
When
shall I feel some easing of my pain ?
So
many sins my once pure Soul now stain
I
seek cover of darkness , Night’s compass
This
deep Despair that goes against the grain
Keeps
nagging me until I ask, Alas !
When
shall I feel the coolth of Night again ?
O
Weary Weary Day !
( A
Rondeau Redouble )
Amita
Sarjit Ahluwalia is the pen name of Amita Paul, a retired civil servant who is
at heart a poet and teacher. She writes , mostly poetry, in English, Hindi,
Punjabi and Urdu. She was awarded the NISSIM International Poetry Award 2019
and then the Reuel international Award 2020 for Non- Fiction Prose, while Destiny
International Community of Poets UK, declared her Poet of the Year 2020 as well
as Critic of the Year 2020, and again in 2021. Women Empowered India have just
declared her their WE Greenheart 2022 jointly with Bengal based poetess
Rituparna Khan. Her work has been published in several international
anthologies and also in many journals and online magazines such as Das
Literarisch, Doaba, Lothlorien Poetry Journal, Yugen Quest Review, Setu
Bilingual Magazine, GloMag, Fasihi Magazine, and Spillwords, besides twice
being among selected featured poems on the global NaPoWriMo Website, once in
April 2021 and then again recently in April 2022.
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