A Question To The Child Poem by Vedanth Bhatnagar

Oh my child! My child! I speak to the child!
Me accepts, me accepts the desire mild!

'Thine play'd in the fields of ecstacy,
Thine sang on the roads of dreams,
Thine in morrow the self gleams,
Hath I not been to forgive, foresee? '

Oh my little child! I fear not, for I accept!
Me accepts! For all desires of mine art swept!

'Thine in me hast kindled unto thy birth,
Mine in thou prevails in mirth, bliss and mirth!
Thine in error hast nor erred nor taken,
For life in mine wast not all, but forsaken! '


'Mine is within thine, of thine in me dies
Not; My self as aways, away'd, descries,
Thou art my child! I speak to the child!
Myself tells,
Myself urges and yells! '

Do not grieve, my child! Do not!
Thou hast done! My prevailer is fraught!

'Thou shalt be free of thy uncomforting
Thought; thy deed was an uncurtailed dream;
This realm is no longer mine for porting,
My ship leaves! My mast may not ever seem! '

Oh, death! In death do I laugh!
I was bereft! As is the absence of
a cow to a calf.

'Thine is seen playing, playing o'er
Meadows of green; seen, hidden, unseen,
Thou hast me killed; I nor curse nor ponder!
But mine urges and demands: Will the child in
thou be ever seen? '