THE POOR MAN'S BALLAD

Who would be a poor man's friend,
someone he could share views with?
The class where perils have no end,
'All men are equal' - is just a myth.

How does the poor man want to evade,
his already darkening dark being?
The perils threaten like a razor blade,
the bondage of centuries just not fleeing.

How would the poor ever see a rainbow,
the ones who knew only shades of grey?
'All poor people are equal' - if they must know,
on whom the sober elite suck and prey.

Prasenjit©1997-2021

THE HIGHWAYMAN

The water flows like endless time
on which life sails on like a boat.
Every chime I hear is worth a dime,
I follow my heart so not to gloat.
In life there are things I couldn't
and many things that now I can.
I have a house but no home,
so they call me The Highwayman.

I've seen the moon in eclipse shine
while the glowing sun was getting dark.
Down I was, I never learnt to whine
destined to move on, never to park.
In life, there are places I didn't roam
and faced perils; I never ever ran.
I need no roof, never had a home,
by turn of fate, I was The Highwayman.

I've heard the eerie silence of the crowd
and the deafening roar of a lonely clan.
Rumour is - I made my enemies proud,
while I toiled to foil their devious plan. 
I want to see the cloudy and starry skies,
while they try to stop me, forever ban.
True as a kite, against the wind flies
and bowed, they behold The Highwayman.

Prasenjit©1997-2021

TWO ROADS

There are always two roads

in life for every road we take.

What was unloaded felt like loads,

the path we avoided for future's sake.

Why did we never took that path,

that the sun never ever kissed?

Was it the sense of a dark wrath,

which turned us from the path we missed?

I know not now, I never knew,

what if we had traversed the other lane?

Memories, struggles, treasures all anew

filling the cup of life in its reign.

How can we ever be the true judge,

of a track that was never trod upon?

What made us decide not to trudge

and miss the moments those long gone?

We avoided the stormy, muddy ways

and looked for an easy way onward.

We do not see what ahead of us lays,

thus at every turn we may have erred.

We have our heart's say, minds doing

in all we decide as easy and true.

A bit more effort in our trying,

could have made difference for a few.

Prasenjit©1997-2021

WHAT IF?

Will the world ever be the same,
the dove and the eagle in the same branch?
Stopping those bullets in a war game,
the bloody battlefield into a green ranch.

Will the leaders ever know, that
sobbing and wailing is the same all over?
It has to be reaped what they sow,
there is no place to run for cover.

The spoils of war, the widows' cries
spurts agony even in the vulture's eyes.
Some committed to fire, others to earth,
cut short- a life promised at birth.

Can we really still not even hear,
how the dead speaks from the grave?
The silent story behind every tear,
of how the living dishonoured the brave.

Will the tables ever turn,
for an even playing field?
No ashes, nothing to burn, all
efforts put just to live and build.

Prasenjit©1997-2021