My soul has always been
A lush lawn of green
Tended and watered by
My perennial dreams -
Dreams of promises and freedom,
For all, plenty and then some.
Then came the summer
Of hard truths
The drums of gunner’s
beating to shattered myths.
Incarcerated, cruel reality
Stared back hard at me -
The facts, pinning me down,
With a cruel frown,
Buried the faith in me
deep into the barren brown.
Broken, regret swells up to choke
down my fears
My Utopia dissolve up in smoke
In Triumphant's boos and jeers.
The hope, after a wait in vain,
trickles out of my heart;
Only the silt of sorrow remain
(with a noose) To rend me apart.
Sunday, February 04, 2007
The Rebel's End.
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4 comments:
Nice but depressing.
The title somehow doesnt jell with the body... I see a normal human 's tribulations. What you have said is a cycle. Not an end. A rebel is one who tries to break free from the cycle.
Just a suggestion -
'...Triumph's boos and jeers.'
'...the silt of sorrow remains.'
4Anand: Thanks and :(
4Sol: But, most rebels do not succeed? and meet the same end as most of the famed rebels? But as someone said, if you lose you are a terrorist, but win, you are a freedom-fighter
4Anon: will do the "remains". Thanks. but, who are you ?
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