Treasure Island

veeraiyah subbulakshmi


The Times Of Hearts


On the old manure earth, the seeds germinate,
On the old progressive thoughts, the new ideas develop,
Thousands of spores that burst into new green ferns,
That cover the flaws, shine as the shields of the mushrooms,
The joyous sight when go through the virgin lands,
The springs are clean and the rivers are cold,
Don’t touch them to be spoiled to dissipate your heat,
The time has gone in every other unreachable object,
Where nothing is left to show that someone had done,
Roof less coliseums, in which young gathered to be thrilled,
Their hearts were filled with fragrance of roses,
As the houses of ancient cities have the statues of flowers,
The human strike a pose hiding the most attractive parts,
The paintings in the caves show the eagerness of human,
The fossils are strewn everywhere on this living planet,
Where the organics manage to grow to be the young,
Forget the old; they are too contented, once, now regretful,
No revenue to pay to be born on the mineral planet,
Once born, our hands are tied, mouth is gagged,
Paths are paved for us to walk, monotonous minutes,
The time flies as the vulture, snatching all our pleasures,
Our hearts are branded to seek the value added tortures,
Time exists but does not stand still for a second,
To prolong the ecstasy that nerves teach and preach,
For everyone who have the comfort or live in dirt,
This moment is not permanent to be sad and weak,
This moment of despair may vanish and disappear,
No magic wand needed, only the time has to go.

Submitted: Friday, May 10, 2013
Edited: Friday, May 10, 2013

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