To the Youngman--A Prediction
Oh! You’ll be caught
up in despair,
Tiring impurity,
appalling aloneness.
The mechanical
world’s
Swarming cities,
smelling towns,
urban’d country.
The world of haste
and hurry,
Sootheless sit
and restless recline.
Then nights won’t
contrast days.
Yes, people will
wake long nights,
nevertheless
Not in love!
And or attend
the starry skies or
Full moon.
And, albeit sun
will new day newer
rise
Yet, always set
unseen.
So, on a summer’s
sunny day
Hunt pro that distant
dale
Still be hid from
man’s mean eye,
Where howbeit
the grasses be
green, thick and
bathed of dew,
The roving birds
nest,
The shepherds dwell.
By the bank of the
thunderous
stream
Stroll around, and
later loll
Against the old
mossy giant rock.
Cross-legged light
a flowery-cigar,
and gaze
The fir-forests,
the snow summits,
the cloudy horizons.
Listen, the sparrows
tweeting on the
wild willows,
Dogs barking,
rooster neighing—
somewhere down
the vale.
How sweet be it
beside a small fire
And with a bowl
of warm tea!
Or oh sweeter be!
If ‘companied by
sweetie.
Copyright © Fayaz Bhat | Year Posted 2014
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