by Mahak Raithatha S
The Sunday morning, went wandering by
To reach an unseen place
Among the vales and hills,
Spotless from mundane chaos
So lonesome, and so perfectly secure
Not melancholy-no, for it is green,
With ground so fertile, furnished in itself
Like mother with all things that life requires
Looking up, stood the peak
Like a mighty father
A watchful protector
Drugged by tranquillity, High on euphoric wine
I made my high old time.
O! Hold on! What there is I see
I cannot comprehend
In such serene parental landscape
That humanity waged war.
Bears no fruit, that cruel war
As no one lived to relish, what they fought for
Lounged till twilight, the sun asked me to head home.
So parental is here, never felt like I was not home
How can I leave my found home?
Now, I comprehend
Why humanity waged war
Long back, this heaven was someone else’s home
And Heaven is an envious home.
Lines5, 6 and 7 are of William Wordsworth.
Last updated January 19, 2012