Or will they read my poems
Yet they pose here, as if, they the staunch lover of truth
In reality they are not, they all bluff
The reason is that when I start to say them the truth
They either run away accusing me that I am telling lies
Or resort to ugly debate
Or engage against me with sick arguments
I am sorry to say
Such is the sordid state
Of the affairs of mankind’s unfortunate fate.
Going round to seekBlissful light and loveIf the vast sky is blueThen I am the cloudFloating around to seekTruth from falsehoodIf truthfulness is a powerThen I am a sharp knifeCutting around all cursing liesTo give a meaning to my life.
Or a mold of red clay, full of bloodOr just a frame with bone and fleshBut that is not true me with a head.In that head I contain somethingAnd occasionally I bring that forthYou may know the man by nameBut you know not my intrinsic worth.Essence of life may be many a thingTo one but…
without work.
I feel them foreign, an un intimate, unfriendly animated animal,so I go surreal, the real is beyond the imagination, I seefive legs of an elephant, dancing trees, love sucks like a tickhonesty keeps changing like a freak, the snakes have legsstones creep and crawl, fishes live on land, oceans are full of sand,man with one…
Through politicsAs it is bi polar in natureBut truth’s is the opposite
Do not open your heartWhose job is to play a gameDo not give your poemTo people who can not write even a quatrainBut become experts in throwing wordsIn a chat or at a tea stallBut when askedTo say something in black and whiteThen they go completely to be an idiot.
