Waking Sickness

This Age that differs amidst
Old and New,
Whispers the self-same words;
That fate was as inconsistent then
As Life anew yearns!
Time speaks another language now, that
Doesn’t seem of Old;
You and I fall out of Love
Our hearts are used being cold.
Kasab kills, and yet lives
To tell his story stylized;
To the Gospels who
Write of future ills,
Amongst nations too soft to decide!
Courtrooms exist, and
Lawyers do bicker, a
Man’s fate, as ‘FOR’ or ‘AGAINST’;
Alas! His conscience lies
Maimed and dead,
Satiated by inhumane,
un-Godly tastes!

The Confessional booths in
Churches lie empty,
For Sins seems to have vanished;
Whilst the order of the day
Marred by bustling activity
Are corruption, fun and frolic.
Sad it feels, yet you and I
Comprise the stupid
Common Man!
A Man who has voices in plenty
But not the courage to stand.
Tomorrow, we may
Look evil in the eye,
Our voices shrill and hoarse;
Yet the Martyr’s blood still upon our skins
Feels dry, cold and coarse!

This Age that differs amidst
Old and New,
Whispers the self-same words;
That fate was as inconsistent then
As Life anew yearns!

Sartre once spoke, but
Silently rests
And so do Byron and Shelley
Laden too has done his bit
And sleeps the sleep of yore!

Waiting for sleep, has made
One commit, the
Gravest folly in bed, but
Realize they not in this waking state,
Life itself
Is many a morning rough;
When karma, bomb blasts
And infidelities
Making waking unworthy, unfruitful,
Tough.

Amen