Clasping the fingers of time
May this earth
Amble down to somewhere…..
There would be
No tributary of tears
Nor shadow of sorrows.
Night of hunger, thirst
And pain would be over.
The sun would appear in east
On the cart of seven horses,
Bless new lives in old bodies.
In north the holy Ganga
Would purl down the Himalaya,
Wash all blood stains off soil.
Linnet would sing
Swinging in lap of spring.
All palaces of imposter
And tyrant would be burnt.
Tailor bird would build
Nests in village and city.
The moon would play
Hide and seek among
The twinkling stars in the sky.
All would fall asleep
Listening lullaby of slumber aunt.
Clasping the fingers of time
May this earth
leave for unknown exile.
Dear Poetheart Morgan, You can't be wrong. The old bodies would be alive With the ray of new hope.........Thank you!
What a vision Poet. Fantastic but i think.... wherever the human being goes goes within him the desire for fight or gold, or blood..... Am I right Poet?
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
this is truly a great poem, depicting in earnest an Utopia, that Man if willed could have achieved.