Free me from the ghosts of the past
The stains of blood from the last blast
The gun on the border of man’s imagination
The concept of lines they call the neighbouring nation
Free me from that thought of right
And the wrong meted out by other’s might
The thought of that yard where I lead
Patterns I attain by virtue of a creed
Free me from the randomness of fascinations
From Similar words in different renditions
The Drunken fits which lead to that moment of clarity
The sense of your nobility that I derive from charity
Free me from the disgust of the dirt
Death on the road with which I flirt
The Nasal Twangs of popular Mediocrity
The earnestness to the music of life’s alacrity
Free me from thoughts of freedom
The paths that lead to your kingdom
The world that is never in the world
An untoward dream of a story untold
Free me to the breeze of the bus window
To the flower at the stone’s throw
To the peace in an addiction less slumber
To the grace of the sun in 61st Summer.
1 comment:
Kya baat hai.
Dont tell me it is original.
hehehehehe
Nahi re ...
well return I must say.
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