All the things has a cause to happen.
The sun, the morning, the stars, the night,
The golden sun to morning, the stars to night.
Merely all played the age of miracles.
The creeping school boy, with utmost unwillingness.
The solider with oath at lips, adhere solidarity.
Then the beggars to congested streets, struggle to live.
They all played the age of miracles.
The birds return to their nests, with hope.
Some whining acts of patients, bearing the pain.
Enormous joy of prisoners, to be released
And these just played the ages of miracles.
NIGHTS IN SOLITUDE.
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1 comments:
Soulfull
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