Is the philosopher poet now tired of thinking?
In a lonely corner cold beverage he is drinking.
Or somewhere he is playing Ping-Pong,
Or thinking to write a divine sweet song,
The heart is moving with movements of the ball,
While the brain embroidering a poetic shawl.
Knitted wool may help the ailing human race,
A shawl decorated with a green love lace,
Words that may save the world from destruction,
That makes us warm to stand for construction.
An Aquarian like me bare feet in a lake,
With closed eyelids it’s the rest we take,
Our hearts are submerged in an ocean of beauty,
But our thinking brain performs its duty.
Brotherhood, coexistence and peace we desire,
We dislike all wars, we hate the fire,
We wish and dream moonlight for all,
We want to hide the world in a shawl.
Being human being we are often frustrated,
When we are ignored and we are underrated,
Many of us commit poetic suicide,
There is limit of patience and abide.
My friend I know you have been injured,
Come back to your friends you’ll be cured,
It’s your birthday, born again in your bower,
Wish you a warm and thoughtful shower.
Refresh your wings; come back like a dove,
Fly high in skies with the clouds of love,
We need your beautiful nicely knitted shawls,
Your friends await and reprove withdrawals.
So many lovely returns of the day,
To a missing friend wish a Happy Birthday.
Happy than happier rather happiest,
All the good and better and the best.