O! Where will I find these vibrant fawns
That lived in wordsworth’s poetry.
O! Where will I seek those stately dawns:
The angels, doves and whistling trees,
That sang the tunes of loneliness;
Unfazed, unsmelt of worldly mess.
In dim-lit quarters and chequered spaces,
I groped in vain for fondly places.
My search, though, never met its end-
As Humanity could never lend
A domain: Pure and soft as a child;
A region calm amongst the wild!
These God-made mute and spotless places
Are tainted dark by hideous faces.
They reek of filth and wallow in grime,
And grow their shoots as grows the time.
O! They should learn the art to live;
The art to love; The art to give.