I walked the street which I found to be lonely On the mid I came to know that I was one and only
I traveled the path which was away from sorrow But on the Mid I noticed that the road was turning narrow
I then discern that the scope for me is straightened But later I realized that it will be a patent
I traveled the street I traveled the street Which no one ever dreamt to visit. I found the pole succeeded in the goal And this was the story of road not taken I wasn’t mistaken by picking up road not taken .
All braced to face the day, The diurnal engine ignited, Gently revving up, Barging into the quietude Of the colony, With a daily prayer escaping His mumbling lips, As he steered mildly Into the road, To see a car pulled
11 There is living after death, there is death before life, Ordinary living which is in scrambles of destituteness, Destituteness of idealism, of knowledge meaningful, of utter candidness. Dull realities of weeds, weeds of rampant ignorance, averment Of void words,
We are all in a race, the race for being first, From childhood we have been told you have to come first or your life will be as meaningless as dust. People are struggling to be appreciated and be known,
Travelling with along, stout dark man In the burstling city thoroughfare Talking incessantly about immediate enjoyment Of unnatural genre was of good old days, When we found ourselves shopping Delusion in cramped dimly lit economic pub Where the roaring music