Days pass dryly, monotonously
As they usually pass with a man in prison
Without any thrill, fun or adventure.
No emotional warmth or physical intimacy, for comfort.
Individuals with infinite zest, talent
Are at the receiving end, always.
For long, the air had worn
A decorous grief and remained Poisonous.
It seemed stale and contaminated.
Now smiling fresh and clean
Really more pleasant,
When it mixes and fuses with monsoon rain.
A refreshing air!
When will we have the mood and time
To wander in the woods,
Wade through the gentle streams
And listen to the cherry crackle of the wood
And hear the language of silence, the blissful experience of life.
With a queer sense of freedom
Will all of us experience that Bliss ?
But alas, Many of us are trapped in a
World of unhappy silence.
Life is not always free
And also not unencumbered.
And yet, we live on hopes, vague hopes.
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