Sick Times

With hearts closed, 
And arts wide opened; 
They looked on-
As a soul gradually turned off
Again,
The misset sat;
On that road of this and that
Indeed,  its a system of maladies
These times are ill

With thoughts paralysed, 
By the hits from selfie sticks
A soul laid dying
Fingers kept clicking; 
As pictures of thick betise,
Dangled on the walls of truth
Gosh! These times are harebrained

With enough strength from negligence, 
The flower finally withered; 
For every click, 
Made her demise silky
Again, 
Another gain is gone;
Lost to the clutches of harum-scarum
Alas! These times are pallid

With nude values, 
These times cough out this and that;
As our morals stay sneezing
Will and zeal are left shrinking
Interests remain broken
And wiseness still stuck in ice,
For probably,  these times are cold

We used to care to care
And dare to share;
When truth wasn't rusted
And our roots had it's flair
When morals weren't watery
And our morale were still thick;
Rich in outreaches,
That stitched all hitches

How long would we blame witches, 
For the cause of our fall?
Daily we hear preaches, 
Yet we still seem here
Here,
Stuck in this rock of this and that
Surely, these times are snoring;
Let sleeping times wake!

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