King of the concrete jungle,
almost Juan-like in his
persistence but hung heavy
Amidst the smog of life.
Awaiting a momentary escape
to a long gone image of the
green, green grass of leisure
And the time to peer through fluffy clouds
of mountain skies.
Embroiled in the heated wars,
Raging bigger and more frightful
than Homeric odes.
Unable to see beyond
the seconds hand
On the steady, ticking clock of life…
As each victim of war is claimed
and the funeral bells toll.
Master of the races,
one step ahead of the rest
and still running,
but there’s no finish line
in sight.
Ideals and dreams cut up
Into little pieces of mockery,
Visions popped for reason
and realism as faith
bows out.
The last round goes to the skeptics.
Face turned toward the sun
and still shrouded in the darkness,
Enlightenment lost with
the magical spells of
Nature,
Fancy flitting by to
rest awhile amongst the
old English graves..
Rhea Dhanbhoora has been writing since childhood, has published a book of poems (Poetry Through Time, published by English Edition in 2003) and is currently a Literature student, writing features as part of a full-time job. She can’t imagine a life without writing and one day hopes to be able to live and breathe off the words, preferably in an idyllic country setting somewhere. Food, music, reading and travel are high up there on the list of things she loves reading and writing about. Writing to her is, like life itself, an adventure – a journey to find her place, to define and redefine who she is over and over again and to live and learn through the process.