Mornings are too short and nights sleepless…
Amidst turmoil, work rendered should be flawless…
To talk to the inner self I have no time….
The poet within me is dying; there are no more words that rhyme…
.
Mechanical lifestyle, filled with dismay….
Synthetic concerns worsen your day….
Evading the place where even trees refuse to sway…..
I want to fly to utopia, far far away…..
.
Healthy competition has become blind….
A constant dagger behind is a common find...
Multiple set of eyes always watching my stride…
From this inhumane torture I’m not able to hide…
.
Ruthless vandalism is reigning strong…
Being malicious is no longer wrong...
Undressing this stress which clutches all day...
I want to fly to utopia, far far away…..
.
Missing the long walks and talks with my mother…
Beside the lake where we blew all the gathered chicken feather….
Eavesdropping and hiding, with pals beneath the heather……
Without any of these, my senses have begun to smother….
.
I choke on my words when I talk about the times of yore…
My eyes stream up and myriad emotions galore…
To relive those days of nostalgia, I want to fly away….
I want to fly to utopia, where your hair will never grey…..
