Journeying Is
Hard
I look
up at the
cool, soft Moon,
From this
hardened Earth,
Wonder if the River of Life is gliding
With souls of
our ancestors,
Dead and
gone!
What is it? Where are they?
Scorching
summer’s heat is bearable,
Tolerable, it seems
to be.
but the journeying
is hard.
From sunrise
till dusk, each day,
Journeying is
hard.
The carriage plods
on its
corrugated Wheels rusted .
“Ganga was Sunken”
“Ganga
is sunken”.
Parched land is not parched,
real aridity stems in
Man’s heart. Journeying
Is very very
hard.
No comments:
Post a Comment