Lord, grant me this moment,
As I sword my pen to write;
The world beckons me back,
I face into a stride.
Rhythm flows within my brain,
Tones outside, thunder and rain;
It’s all wasted on nothing,
A mirage to soothe instincts.
Even the shower turns shivers,
As thoughts wash away;
The neighbouring guffaws,
Bellows down unceasing pain.
Cast away all lust, my pride,
Communal clowns and corporate criminals;
This age has all the flows.
Gaily I sway, until death takes me home.
By: Anoop Mathai Mathew
18 April 2013
No comments:
Post a Comment