The Parody of a Loser
The sun of hope rises everyday
The dusk brings us closer to reality;
On this treadmill of life we walk everyday;
In the shadow of a tree called expectation,
Too scared to face the Sun.
The thirsty traveller bears each footstep in an unending desert.
Who am I?
The fruit called responsibility, whose seeds of freedom are discarded, suppressed;
No further growth is possible,
The gardener is now gone.
We fight with nature everyday, we pray for dawn;
The dreams we had, are now long gone.
The dreams we had, are now long gone.
The efforts are all in vain,
Nothing remains but the pain.
Burdened with sorrow, we pray for a better tomorrow,
Our dreams scattered on the canvas of life.
We do nothing but survive,
The irony of survival is survival.
Will we be like the leaves which perish every fall,
Or the branches of wisdom that flower every spring.
Who decides the path?
Who creates the creator?
Who destroys the destroyer?
Who banishes the darkness?
The candle of hope lights low,
But the light has not yet faded.
Our wills and strengths are low, but not yet jaded.
If to fall again after we rise is destiny,
We now beat the drums of mutiny;
WE pave the path,
WE create the creator,
WE destroy the destroyer
And Say
“LET THERE BE LIGHT";
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