Showing posts from July, 2017

Song of a Hippie

Moments of reality strike in patterns,  When expressions run low & expectations look beyond... Silence has its own way of speaking The rhythm with which the rains fall Parched souls & overjoyed hearts, all alike The last drag of the joint the hippie inhales In the forest of his desires While his senses meander.. Searching  For the fruits of freedom From his fears in the prison of his making,  Or From his acquired faith in the garden if his memories Moments of reality are like  The last spark of a bonfire  Oblivious of its burnt glory Raging on as the rain drops touch them First in spurts, then pounding its spirits The stars in the sky have seen all for a night.. Sky becomes a canvas where the storm clouds Create patterns if reality  The songs of a hippie start... -Ashk