Lovely will be the poetry
If done on the surface of Mars
A planet red, as the definition
Of hue of Love, in significance
Is defined
Many land-rovers will beam
The kiss, live.
So full of sound and tilts
Nothing will be left to chance
An utopia perfect
Crazy little creatures
Down below on Earth
Will pine the desire thus
Lucky were Martian
Abounding with all love
No war, no bloody history
No pain, nothing
No kurukshetra nor Kalinga
No jihad nor crucifixion
Will make a platform
To speak its voice out
In all peace and all health
Jovial and trustworthy
Convivial nature, hand in hand
Will play all the game
In merger of act and action alike
And there won't be anything
Further apart to call him foe
No pages will turn blue or black
All will bask in the hue red
Wow the lovely time
Whose poetry was Mars prime!
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