To come to last part of life,
I would like to kindle a light.
Nothing else but the light of sense,
A burning flame of conscience.
Standing before a window I make a confession,
I have done wrongs infatuated by the passion.
To have a lucky fez on head, I never made any mistake,
I never missed to reach my specified target.
Fortune smiled upon me but I was not fortunate,
Always had to compromise with conflict of interest.
Very often I took undue advantage having used manpower,
In the eyes of common people I was a social worker.
Followers under my custody had no conception,
I could have changed my colour like a Chameleon.
I do swear! I never have killed a man,
I have murdered humanity rather than.
People had a good faith on me as a well performer,
They never had any suspicion about my eye-washing character.
With my faithful hands, I have strangled beliefs of man,
Their hopes, ambitions paid no values for that I played a sham.
All along I made a strained relation with them,
Shallow brained people thought I was poor man's friend.
Oh my God! What I have done is not fair,
I do confess my offence, Shower upon me your kind favour!
It is an acknowledgement of a tired passenger,
Who has come to last phase of life for final departure.
YOU ARE READING
Sitting Under a Torn Umbrella
PoetryMan is for man - this is an old slogan today. It has lost its uniqueness for the cause of self-centred mentality. Now we cannot hear the chorus songs of unity. Rather the sound of cacophony always do disturb our hearing organ by imposing acute dispa...