Are They Dream Children?
I spot them
almost in ragged clothes,
Noting short
of hands with alms,
Midst of unmanageable Crowds
In the signals and platforms,
They are un
fathered children,
Craving for
mothers’ care
Long lost or forgotten, or
Missed or abandoned
abominably.
Are they Elia’s Dream Children?
I wonder while
staring from
Frilled windows, aged
walls
and silent
rooms which echo
My angst
and despaired
state.
Over
the broad cast, Viola
In low notes touching you.
The Mystery
in His Creation
always lingers
there, it is
an unanswered
question.
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