When someone preaches culture, as scientifically as horticulture, Just stand up and let them know, enough of this farcical show, That you already have yours, and the rest of them, have theirs, Music comes about, as much from common sound,
The fish are very angry, and wish the sun would finally stop, Robbing their already depleted river, drop by evaporating drop, They know not, why their water, is vanishing with a shroud, And then sun cannot tell them, it is
When you refuse to see, the suffering staring right at you, And don’t even blink, thinking it doesn’t really concern you, When you fail to appreciate, any image your eyes just took, You are no different, and no better, than
Every one of us has travelled, walked down many a different road, But very few among us remember how, and fewer, why we trode, For most of us, it was simply a linear journey from path to the next, Choosing
Unlike the leaves of autumn, that see fit, to fall in only one season, Very unlike the swinging moods of winter, that shift for no reason, Not at all like the hunger of summer, that doesn’t spare even the moon,