The Youth of My Poetry

The youth of my poetry is lost
Despairing the love so surreal.
The art of my existence is lost
Designing the success so elusive.

I have never understood the nature's beauty-
Dripping pearls from morning leaves.
I have never heard the rivers' song
Singing its melody into sea.









I have only seen the people
Rushing for fool's gold of illusion.
I have only heard of human groans
that talk of selfish motive and actions.

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