Come thou thoughts like a fire in the water;
Come thou words like an island in the sea;
Come thou melody like an old saint’s prayer;
Come thou wisdom and make captive minds free.
There are people in the city dying,
striving and begging for some food.
“Fate it is!!” I say to myself passing by.
Throwing some coins rewarding their cry.
The money may buy them some food.
Or may be a cheaper packet of a bane.
And I will sit with a pen and a paper in a cold room.
Revolting through my words, being such insane.
But there are poems that took soldiers to battle;
Rhythms have made lovers dance;
There are songs that make an old man live,
one more day, hoping that he would revive.
Yes a poem can’t feed people for sure
Neither a song can do diseases cure.
But I see some naked boys bathe down the road
Giggling and singing some songs loud.
The filth and dirt drains away with the sound,
And hope still is preserved profound.
Yes, come thou hope and tell me the difference,
Between right and wrong.
Come thou a day when the life in the city;
Will be rhythmic as the words in my diary.