A Sonnet

Courtesy — Priti Ghosh

There is a thing we occultly know
An aim that we seldom show.
For we are assailed day and night
By a wail that hides the goal beyond sight.

Through this storm and gale
Lurks an unlikely and silent tale. 
This ruin of form and act
Harbours a fire, an eternal pact.

How low could we go, to serve our Lord
By hell and hate hold aloft our God. 
Inscribe on the grim foundation’s slate
A seal of God and a luminous fate.

For we are the fell-sons of God
We ferry His sun through abyss and clod.