The Golden Necklace

The golden necklace long and sleek,

sleek as a thread and equally meek, 

meekly subdues to the ups and downs, 

down the desert's folded gowns. 

The gowns bordered in sparkling beads, 

beads that house the perfect meads, 

meads made out of inhumane deeds, 

deeds of the rich and greedy breeds.

As far as the hovering falcon can see, 

the sea beyond being the end to thee, 

the necklace adorns the lands free, 

free from the humanity's selfish glee. 

The glee in the shiny bead is clear, 

clear from the mask of natural shear, 

shear we attribute to our earth dear, 

dear we say though we consciously fear.

Trees we plant along the paths to travel, 

the travel to the shores of fine gravel, 

gravel wherein the stories unravel, 

unravel the tales when there was no gavel. 

The gavel of nature is inaudible tonight, 

tonight when she sings her weakest plight, 

plight to back off from the wildest fight, 

fight that shall end man's glory's flight.

Planting trees in the driest of deserts, 

deserting forests in the richest soils, 

soiling the faces of earth so strange, 

strangest shall be our race to her.

The golden necklace and emerald beads, 

may look pretty on the bride who leads, 

but shall hurt when you kiss her neck, 

and you would be turned off in a speck.

Rusted strings

It had just been a week, my heart had been rendered weak. 

The long terrible one year streak, of being a single independent geek, 

had been put down by your grace, one more time did my heart race, 

Love was in the air I could trace, I finally lost my regular grimace.

It is too shallow now again, but the feeling is not in vain, 

I realize it's my mistake to train, against the heart over the brain. 

I feel as young as spring, for you pulled the rusted string.

I wish to last longer, this thing, that again made my heart sing.

The fate has decided against me, and my will is keeping the company. 

I wish miracles out of the sea, living in the city that knows no tree. 

I will try to buy one chance, under the table, out of the glance.

I'll be left with my dull single stance, in case we won't do the smoother dance.

You are wasted, spoilt am I, but you're beautiful to my eye. 

Darling, can we dream a sweeter lie, against our fate that's always sly?