On the funeral pyre

We all burn the same.

The king, the pauper
and the acid dropping dame,

the miserable old hangman,
sad and in pain;

The lovers of lust
and happiness and shame,

the wanderers, the wonder’rs
and the seekers of fame;

The father, the son
and the orphan in the rain,

the ruler, the rebel,
and the sniper taking aim;

The vermin of society
and the fireman just the same,

The intellectuals and philosophers
and the clinically insane;

We all burn the same.

By: Viraj Belgaonkar

One thought on “On the funeral pyre

Pen it... or aaa type it. u know what i mean.

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