We sit and pen our letters
Even as they type their mails.
They whisper of nuclear destruction
Even as we scream for lost causes.
They sit inside their glass structures
In their posh chairs and tables
Even as we sit on the grass,
Soaking the winder sun,
An archaic book in hand,
Gently turning the yellowed pages
Lest they crumble in our hold.
Of chauffeured cars and neon lights
Of prison cells and vaulted chambers
Of mujahideen and millionaires
We read in the newspapers;
Of a world we have turned alien to.
We- the horror poets ,time travellors,
Music makers, people haters,
Watch the world march past
Even as we rewind the CLOCK.