The hopes of a harvest seem distant,
Beneath yonder scalding sun.
Oh destinies are you penitent,
For all that you have done.
The money- lenders scream beyond the din,
Of your crying starved children.
Dreams in your eyes and a storm within,
As the barren cracks deepen.
The ancient heirlooms have all been sold,
Your aged despondently lie,
With dreams unfulfilled and hopes untold,
Dreaming the last dream –to die.
Even the beggar who came for alms,
Has left his song at your door,
For hunger who begged with thousand arms,
And a million mouths and many more.
One day the clouds of promise will sing,
Of nothing but the harvest,
Oh that which the harvest shall bring,
Is the hymn of the deepest.
Bountiful words on Hope
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Always wide eyed with wonder, prone to reveries and restless with an inexplicable yearning to create ever since he was a little boy, Jay wrote his first poem when he was six. He discovered the ore of his creative endeavors in the writings of his sister from which everything else originated, in attics filled with vanilla smelling old books, in savoring the classics and in intricate poems of Wordsworth and William Blake inlaid with rhyme…. His poems have snuck under editorial radars and appeared in global anthologies, magazines, newspapers and online journals. He also runs an idea shop called the Centre of Gravity, draws cartoons, directs animated short films and conceptualizes communication campaigns. All of which originate from the same artery of poetic longing that destiny charmed into his soul.