I wonder at myself at changes
changes in this lump of clay
with time everything has to change
one more year is breathing its last
New hopes sprout like grass
on death bed of last year's
fertile is soil of graveyard of dead hopes
manure they provide for new year's hopes
Year after year useless hopes are scrapped
full is the scrapyard in mind and heart
no place to dump waste things, though
biodegradable hopes gets recycled.
Offspring of sick or dead hopes once again
start looking green with a little variation
nothing grows below non- biodegradable hopes
Everything has to be recycled, in turn I will ..