High Time…
Life screeching absurdity, Plastic eyes, body that stroll, Plastic peeping through that soul, Energy derived from containers of death, Moon painted bright to overshadow the bribed sunset,
In the distant corner of that shop, There is a tailor made dress, The luxury of the mind – I ignored, Today I will struggle for their bread. Hold my hand and embrace.
I can smile through pain, How long it can take my mockery; It needs to leave me out of shame, So I mock pain, My mutilated body in chain; Sometimes the desert too sees rain.
Oh! Yes The chieftain gone; And the lord shone, The Kings are dead; Democracy in Bed, It needs medicament to counter the projectile, Of million hearts – freedom, youthful and versatile.
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