We sail from one net to the other,
unfolding a leaf of the unknown;
Knowledge springs from womb of pain,
as those on its crest would aver.

Days are gone when morn dailies
unmasked the melange of action;
Its nuances stirred a chord in none,
city-dwellers ruing static salaries.

Yet work is on to sift a new horizon.
Those on the crest rest not in peace;
Now the world in the eye of the mouse,
each tucked away smug in a cocoon.

Yet when I hear a tuneful melody,
Nature’s incense flows into me.