{Of all lies, art is the least untrue - Flaubert}

Friday, September 23, 2005


Sins of the red hand and regrets of a loser,
Came closer in the night of doom.
Joy of living and the anguish of being,
Joined hands in the hour of gloom.

Hope seemed a foolish self justification,
Faith bade its last good bye.
Broken links stopped praying for lost cause,
Heart burst without a single sigh.

For us, there is no death, cried in refrain,
For us, there is no life either.
For we, the children of dust and lust,
Nor mind can kill us, heart neither.

Fell in the array of dim bright lights,
Saw the confusion in every passing breath.
Closed little light in my feeble fist,
Before the final dance of death.


Anonymous said...
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Alok said...

Great stuff. It even rhymes :)

Children of dust and lust ? hmmmm.... ;)

Anonymous said...

nice poem.

Anonymous said...

Its a good one.. you might have done better

anurag said...

Thanks Anonymous's :)