The winds of the past
have come to lick our
dried bones
The trumpets have
already been blown;
the thorns laid in our path
For the excruciating pain to come was foretold:
the burning sun and the overflown seas,
air yet breathless, water and not drink
The Rulers have heard and not heeded
And time would not credit to any being!
Would our sufferance be such unseen?
If and when we would decide to read poetry or a piece of discerning article a day, our world is, then headed for a change. No magic potion whatsoever: if there were, politicians would have used it a long time ago. Our mind is all that we have; the only exception to tricks of all corners and angles. Enjoy the luxury and peace of poetry...
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