Poem for Leigh Hunt by Prageeta Sharma
“I find ways to keep a sense of peace but it is not always easy; for example, I can’t keep my questions tempered: What kind of sun expounds its rays upon the hills but then mutes like an ordinary bulb, small and self-contained? Moreover, what moon filters the blistering whiteness of snow so that it can only be seen by the fiscally immune, enamored by the dully noted? Let me amble with Keats and his wandering expression and try to figure out if the poem keeps me encased in the rapture for which my dim external life won’t account.”
Some people are often challenging to figure out. You try to help and they act in disbelief. Should there always be a string attached. Seriously? I am glad that I am not necessarily what I do. That who I work for may reward me know. Yet there is still a great reward to come. Perhaps nothing that you would think but an everlasting reward that is priceless. If we could all work for that with passion the world would be a better place. More of us need to do this.