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Poem

They talk to me… I take no interest
For I like not their likes…
When I talk to them--- about angels, and heavens,
And about life, magic and things I like
They listen not
And the boasters, like parrots
Start praising their minds…
And talk of trivial things
Like brands, latest fashion, new model cars and their favorite cigarette

They seems impressed of themselves
And tell me in hidden words, how better they are  than I
For they understand the world and know life's art
I smile on their faces, but laugh at them in my heart…

They know not the truth of life
Or they ignore the cry of Truth
And turn a blind Eye towards the Reality 

Or may be it’s a parallel universe 
they are living in
In my world, Moon has strains
And flowers wilt young

kids play with the debris of their wrecked houses
Mothers bury the empty coffins of their dead sons
Sons wait for their murdered fathers to bring them food
And dughters wipe mothers' tears with their torn clothes

How can I celebrate this life...?? 
They do...
They must have got a different world 


(~Paghunda)

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