Prodigal Son

By Aryesh Maurya

A life that dawns musical son,

Wasn't to be spent in a cubical, son.

We abandoned the lakes, the oceans, the hills;

Isn't this confined living cynical, son?

Our thoughts, no wonder, have misaligned;

Not every cure is physical, son.

Some Lillies are dying unseen, un-fonded,

We aren't where life can be magical, son.

I say, the past can save the future,

I'm told I'm not talking logical, son.

My morals ask to break the borders,

But that would make me a criminal, son.

There isn't a way to save the world,

Where poets are trying to be comical, son.

The riches of life rain, in melody and colours,

yet we keep waiting to be prodigal, son.

By Aryesh Maurya