The brightest of stars will die
the most sonorous singing voice will be still,
that day too an indiscreet cuckoo, will sing oblivious,
from its perch and people will listen without fail,
while the coffin slowly moves to the pyre, bit far.
We are pall bearers for those who walked before us,
by and by the sun will go down and shadows will fall on us.
Loveliest of flowers would lose fragrance, turn to dust
There isn't any new road that leads to one's goals,
"war that end all wars" don't believe it, what a hoax!
Keep patience, delve deep in to self, liberate oneself,
see consistence only in change; it never stops.