As the phantom of Dawn reveals itself
No longer can we sleep nor dream,
O Wanderer, we are like tiny swimmers
Those tadpoles in a flowing stream.
The ones flowing from snow-capped mountains
Through valleys deep and green,
O’er rock and sand and brambles too
O Nature, how serene.
The chorus of the maddening crowds
Absent the noisy, boisterous, throngs around,
Surrounded by just peace and quiet
Harmony, with Nature found.
What more does anyone ever want
Than to be at peace with oneself,
Money can’t buy us happiness
Nor can, the gossamer of power and pelf
For, that wayward damsel obeys no commands
As “ Peace” listens to no one but the heart,
Which, in turn, has a mind of its own
And, minus Peace we’re torn apart.
Of course, Man’s stupidity knows no bounds
When Peace we attempt to establish by might,
Laughable, indeed, these “wise” pronouncements
That, some believe are needed and right.
Which war did ever produce “Peace” ?
Which missile anything but dread?
Misery was never writ larger on a face
As “Peace” now appears only on the faces of the dead.
No formulae, alas, to keep us happy
No foundations for it either,
Just need to develop a state of mind
To simple, little, happiness find,
While we blossom in the garden of life
Then, softly, gently, quietly, wither.
Notice : All material in this product is the intellectual property of Ashok Sawhny and cannot be used in any way without the written
permission of the author Ashok Sawhny. Having said that, the author is always open to proposals and can be contacted
via www.ashoksawhny.com
