Son's Loss-Father's Own
Son's loss-Father's own
He looks at those eyes,
With eyes equally dry,
As though his son's presence in disguise,
Through the stony skins of the statue rise.
So many times the hopes pendulum hath struck the hour,
Yet the wound hath remained like a laurel's flower,
How long the matoid heart can wait?
And how long could it remain in mantensite state?
The site of his stone built son-to him ike a halidon;
And his grief here for no one to reckon;
How much can he to his son's statue felicitate?
This dreadful vacuum for no one to obliterate.
What more a father can do being a heart lazurus?
To whom the world and his own being seems impious!
A Political Spin
After the day's work,
I sat down in an idle mind
Before the television-
Turning towards the news channels.
With a mind that knew
Like the daily news readings
They will be reading some news-
That will bring out
The animal like nature
Of the humans.
But suddenly! !
Oh what am I seeing
Infront of my own eyes?
Is this a dream or horrible night mare?
What bloody, terrible scene is it?
Of human protectors fleecing upon
Their own brothers and sisters,
Their own countrymen-
Of same religion, of same language.
These men wearing uniforms
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