Posted by: Prem Piyush | June 16, 2007


Born with golden luck,
With qualities best,
Beyond jewellery,
Beyond promises,
Its a metal – Gold.

It was impure,
They purified it,
Under the temperature,
Really high.
They beaten it up,
With hammers,
Really hard.
They polished it,
With thin knives,
Really sharp.

For a while,
From outside,
It may have dust,
Near roadside.
But its pure,
Beyond looks.

Its gold,
Simply gold,
For the eyes,
That have sight,
Really worth.

Otherwise when,
Tested a gold,
For its purity,
Beyond limits,
Of the temperature,
It can bear.
Not a surprise,
In front of eyes,
And the eyelashes,
Just see turning,
Gold into golden ash.


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