As I walked off
by thy side,
In the wake of the ailing boos;
All I get to see the churns of the rising rues;
Of the unending toils sometimes so mulish;
Of the yen’s sometimes so fetish,
In the wake of the ailing boos;
All I get to see the churns of the rising rues;
Of the unending toils sometimes so mulish;
Of the yen’s sometimes so fetish,
I wonder have I really lost the key for respite;
Or it is the callous time bound to abide,
Amidst the daunts, where I only see the clouds;
Upheaval in the air that never seems to subtle;
With its arrogance only up with its bustle,
Like the seasons that ensue the time;
With the doctrine of nature that makes its chime,
Oh! The tides of despair you be mime;
No more you lurk the uneven bleak tranquility;
And to buff up with the grace of sanguinity,
With the spirit of connecting the dots;
Yet unfurnished, with its dismantling slots,
Yes true, to struggle a part of life;
And life indeed a race amid the gaffes,
I wonder if it is really for the sane who embraces all toils;
Or it is for the famished mind that never recoils?
