This chilly gentle breeze of a defined era
blankets us for the last,
This sun struggling in the fog,
Tries to see us for the last.
From a long slumber we arise,
On this millennium’s last dawn,
The moon in its last phase
still gracing the western sky,
And through its bloated,
Obscured shape in the west,
Stubbornly watches the hoopla,
The millennium eve’s noise.
God! Amidst such fire-cracking ‘lasts’,
About the matter and externalities,
Will the ‘lasts’ extend
to the dark corners in us?
The patches where
greed, selfishness, war
and all man-made disasters
vying with the nature’s,
Will they also pack off
to follow the trend around.
O night, when you arrive today,
Please chuck away all the dirt
in thy nocturnal folds:
O sun, cast your ochre rays
oblique upon the wrong facets,
Make them glow like jewels;
O breeze, enter the souls,
Soothe the passion inside,
Blow up which like volcano;
O man, let the series culminating around,
enter your deeper self and make you realise,
the futility of sticking to old follies
even in the new era.
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