On cemented smooth
Rain drops fell and burst
Into little water stars...
And I,like a lone survivor, brood...
The sky...
On the shiny footpath lie...
Spread wide blue and dark...
Like an abandoned artwork
Of a painter guided by whim
Left midway with brush strokes
At someplaces loud and somewhere dim...
And I,the survivor of the forgotten age, brood...
Thinking of cyberlife as it stood...
In this techno beat superfast age
How the speediest owns all the edge!
I wish not to be a party
To this machine driven liberty...
But...
Machines sweep all so quick...
Machines churn monetary trick...
Last night a machine wrote
A ballad for another machine stuck abroad!
A machine rumbled melodious tune
A machine painted a golden sanddune...
Everything this age are machine run...
Machines kalories every second burn...
So...
What is my role here? Say?
Time has come to call it a day
For me perhaps...lost in wood...
For me perhaps who only broods...
But...
When the rain pitter patter fall?
When she with all her passions call?
What damn machine could hold
And replicate things felt and never told?
Can a machine wipe tears and cry?
Can a machine empathise and heave a long sigh?
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