Mad Days

By Shaurya Thakur

The ship is turning, on infidel sand,

from pristine to brown.

The ship is crying, on the dying land,

for its losing its ground.

Leave the deck, abandon the crew.

Say the prayers, shout your warnings with all words true.

Come see the map to find a blot.

Looking for survivors you’ll find them not.

The sails are damaged and the deck’s deprived.

Wish the safeties could be improvised.

Weather’s so biased seems to have taken sides.

Found ourselves against battling tides.

Mad days to dream.

Mad days to dare.

Mad days to sing.

Mad days to dance.

Mad days to suffocate.

Mad days to resuscitate.

Mad days to create.

Mad days, to build and to burn.

Mad days, to understand the ways of the world.

By Shaurya Thakur