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...