We long for things that aren’t around
Like Silence, when crazy is the sound,
Friends of yore and simple times
When, our millions we have finally found.
Enticing is power and the glamour world
Even when stones, not flowers are hurled,
Even when words of praise and glory
Are twisted, turned and, suavely, curled.
Beyond redemption seems Man now
Weapon in hand and sweaty the brow,
The Good Lord is the only hope
If only prayers would get to Him, somehow
With all the action in the skies
Everyone rubbing their smokey eyes,
Will supplications ever reach
Or, be laced with a pack of lies.
There’s constant strife between brawn and brain
Though people are friendly, in the main,
Do we not see remorse writ large
On furrowed faces when they’ve caused pain,
There’s plenty more than meets the eye
For lies and myth are always shy,
Flighty as the Gossamer-winged Butterfly
Now here, now there, then gone, goodbye.
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
