Longing

Life gnaws tediously in routine living

The rustic wild heart of ancestral past,

Longs and longs…

For a meadow with dewy snow,

Vegetation and wilderness,

Dustless breeze and engineless paths,

True spring with lovely blossoms,

Hanging berries and cherries in sideways,

Spreading fragrance of green,

Soothing whispers of waving wood,

Gurgling of water in a serene ravine,

Grazing herd of cattle in a wide and far pasture…

The list goes on and on

Which are never seen or touched

Other than in virtual forms;

Bane, are the souls

Are born in current synthetic world,

Where NO fresh and clean:

Water to drink,

Food to feed,

And even oxygen to breathe,

Roads are hedged with giant buildings,

Rarely a tree peeped out from them;

With shrieking engines and jarring sirens and horns,

Amidst the fog of dust and dirt,

Beyond punctuality, an unknown weird rush

Creeps in everyday on the way…