Civilization, -The Tattered Cloth Of Self Destruction, Poem by Subrata Ray

Amidst the daily struggles of life,
Amidst the humming of fake-weather friends,
And the play of the intoxicated senses,
With surface -hearts, we cry within with agony.
And, the masks of business –love,
Get opened in our least adversity.

Hi love, hay faith, -o ardent feelings
Have you all departed us?
Yes love yes, -if you can ever feel these
You would, try your best
To be equal of a greater Love, -your special some One,
Who never leaves you in your distress.

See how the sky kisses the horizon, and remains,
The fresh breeze blows to soothe the sweating clumsy,
Fountain springs to quench the thirsty traveler,
And mother Earth serves her harvest to inmates,

They are the things as they really are,
Love, honesty, and faith they harbor,
And in our fickled- colors, we mar,
With lecherous perversion our true honor!

Civilization is the tattered cloth of self destruction,
And explosion of thousands Satan’s poisonous brains,
To evacuate all the humane-beings, into the nadir of nuclear drains.