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Elegy to the Moths:
Sometimes i grieve for them:
These poor insects hovering around
The electric bulbs like little lunatics,
Dancing to the enchanting
Serenity of light, playful and daring;
The pain is they haven't an inkling of the
Festering danger in the latent heat
That would subsequently bake them dead.
Like moths to a flame we too
Chase after flames of material wealth,
Even playing dangerous tricks
Around its active flames only
T o be led astray, ensnared
By the deceptive glow of ill-wealth,
Hanging on high fence-walls facing
The clustered houses of hunger
Where desolation lingers like fog;
Hostility like weeds creep ever nearer
From the sad hearts of want
To our fenced lighted homes
To consume us like a subterfuge.
