Monday, July 22, 2013

Pathological rapist

To Kurt

Living hard or living is hard
dusty tombs and its secret guard
Truth or a lie but I am debarred
False praise of a de-tuned songbird

And I see a mother overburdened with offspring
Most of them have a stamp of a surrogated being
And I am left here to wonder in pain
The irony of a son's act to feast on mother's vain

The rabid dogs and the hunger for flesh
Yet you all are scared to start afresh
And the feast has began since the last seven decade
Still we see hungry beggars gathered in the facade 

One for one and none for all
Yet here we stand up again to fall
The fallacy of we has been too many
Yet there is still no therapy


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