Our crazy hurry outwits our wits
We wish it is not true. the car speed.
The restaurants. the caution in the winds.
The rape and early sex the little child
Now knows, whose overwhelming juvenility
Had made men mad and wild
We too are perpetrators of the deed
That beckons wails and mourning
For with each dawn, true sense's warnings
Is out our dirty door. we too that bear
Pain's monstrous knife pierce our tender hearts.
Not just the cat burglars, beware
At whose wasting call joy departs
Or the inane thugs in the creeks
Who adulterated our kerosene
And operate on the filthy lane;
Where accidents and deserters are the bane
Of this dying days. killing the savior of
The crying child. making us handicaps,
Our earnest dreams elusive as elusive can be
And making mere men elements of sheer disgrace.