Like weary farmers we have come ready
To till a land new fresh and untidy
After our heads are parked full in the square
The dusty forsaken cracked village square
Under the epileptic faint moon light
That twinkles and shows red light like ember
But the morning came not we remember
Though a tint of bright light showed high above
Yet thick misty black cloud hung us above
We are disillusioned lying fallow
Like a forest reserve without grasses
While the land to till turned into a hollow
Our implements crude and rusty glasses
The moon light tales could match not with day light.
No comments:
Post a Comment