I run my thoughts
On the wings of a butterfly
And
I would see with bigger eyes
the caravans -
Busy ants marching in search of foods
Life in village -
So tranquil, so true
The musical notes
of falling rains;
How not to wet and quench our soul
The quack, and the cawing
Routine of the day
Little childrens
Run, and play
Frocking their pleasure out
Parents walk their fields;
Grandmother gossip soft, and
Grandfather take his Hukkah out
I run my thoughts
on my loving past: my Village life
That
This city hub make a desert
of my present
All ruins, and no joy
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