O sleeping hours of night Why you pass by so lazy Is your voyage betrayed By the uncertainty of life. We all fear for the next day Remember our past with sigh And a day of life passes Without virtual gains. Every next day Some empty pots in the desk Remind us, they need to be filled With karma or with soup of thoughts. The time is running Leaving empty pots behind The white beard on your face Doesnt count the gains of your soul. Life is not uncertain Our deeds were never on time At the certain day of death All knew this, but too late. © Dharmendra Arya
Posted on: Mon, 04 Nov 2013 22:10:36 +0000
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