Posted by: Prem Piyush | January 31, 2007


Looking back into,
Two & ten years from now ,
A small town unknown,
The guy on a bicycle,
One day someone stole that too.

Dry lips, thirsty throat.
Neglected, uncared.
Waiting for hours,
For those gates to open.
With the status,
Called ‘uncivlized’.
Who looks, no prob !
Who thinks, no prob !

Self became dust.
And tears determined,
Hopes intact,
Attitude stronger.

Grew from tears,
Fallen onto ground,
And determined seeds,
Germinated with rains,
Grown today as a plant,
Enough to survive.
At lease with an identity.

And intact is the same,
Just same tendency,
With nutrients of dreams,
Unrealized dreams,
Of growing bigger,
Though never is limit,
Of the dimension of ‘big’.
And still like some tree.
As a tree, growing roadside,
With some fruits,
For the hungry guys,
Like him.
With some shadow,
For tired travellers,
Like him.

For getting all those,
He always seeks,
A harse climate.
Much more pains,
Much more neglects,
And more inspirations.


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