The fifties and earlier were the ignorant past of ideals
The people then didn’t know nor could conceive great ideas
Like dating, together living and mini-bars at the homes
Generations have changed; the once kids are now epitomes
Of elegance, newness and souring up social renaissance
The elders at home started looking obsolete and vacuous
Like the relics of the Stone Age; to remain at the homes
As obelisks of the past; not supposed to raise their voices;
Stop trumpeting about their past and to youth giving advices
And in silence wait for the days they proceed to their tombs
But I can’t help thinking of the days ahead, when today’s kids
Become elders and the way the kids of that future day think
When social renaissance picks up further momentum and in a bid
To cleanse the world of all the old, useless and stagnant stink
Send all those above fifty to live in catacombs waiting for death
...it goes on. this perpetual drama! i'm a museum piece, myself hardly in the know of refined communication...
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
a wise perception. shan