Poetry

It heaves you up; 
too antsy to stay 
on the waves, 
inheriting the power- 
dynamics of deemed palaces. 
 
Channeling the inner Gandhi 
or Buddha to reincarnate 
the fragrance of past. Could 
have become a golden 
era again. 
 
The fraud! Everthing was 
created by a mockingbird. 
Are you sure there 
was a war cry between 
the insects? 
 
You remind me of ugly 
dads fathering a new generation 
of unborn myths.Thousands of 
witnesses will keep their 
eyes shut.