Blood that was warm has now run cold
bled every day have hearts become old
Telling I am the story of my past
and of the ghosts at which it is aghast
Life as a child was a wonderful rhapsody
Free from the fetters of rational prosody
Naively making brute reality a parody
Revelling in a soul filled with life's melody
Poverty struck and child became destitute
wailing and whimpering like a wretched prostitute
Of pleasure and pain does a society constitute
for Man is not for God to substitute
Life is a parody of paradoxical Irony
Fate rules not without a touch of Tyranny
While the rich belch on their goblets of honey
the wretched etch on the tablets of agony
— Prabhukrishna M
irony-of-lifepast-liferich-and-poor