Blind Bats in God's Caves
Hang Upside Down on a Rocky Ceiling
The Stream runs down below, constant
They wake up always to total darkness.
Move around, Do what is expected.
and go back to sleep before the sky turns blue.
Before Dawn, Birds are outside
Sweet Morning Air, heavy midday work, and tiring evening...
The Stream ripples through pointy stones- and they drink from it.
They Play, they mate, and conjugate.
Form a fantasy and Work late, and go home to slumber in sorrows.
Every Night Before sleeping, they hum the same tunes:
" Pretty Kathmandu, How I wish I was Born Again to A God's life"
The stream takes a turn
The Bees always miserly.
Work in teams, Organize, share the work
Dance, communicate,make honey.
Ensure Enough Supplies in the winter.
Every Morning, before dawn, the hymn:
"Pretty Kathmandu- I don't want to break a smile to another fiend again".
Always, Rich and Glory to the Vultures.
the stream is a beautiful waterfall
Vultures fly around in circles
they feed, they kill, have made fear their primary arsenal.
Vultures- Respected, by everyone
SO they smile.
Smile in front of millions, and preach.
Preach the route of "fear":
"Pretty Kathmandu- self survival, and mass brainwash"
Where Hopes Bleeds Blue.
NO one is ALONE... everyone is LONELY.
Trapped in routines, Ambition, fantasy, hope, motive, birth, death.
Trapped in Life.
Crowing towards sunrise
crowing back home at dusk.
Living each life, their own way
Everyone believes their way is right.
But, When everyone is right... no one IS.
("Pretty Kathmandu" Phrase courtesy: Bigyan Raj Gyawali)
GOOD OLD ONES in here.
- ▼ 2009 (18)