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, 
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...



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