Love buds do sprout,
Now and then,
Here and there,
Everywhere,
All in abundance,
Across tight borders,
Among fretted mass,
But sooner or later,
Nay, sooner than later,
Tragically wither
At the scorching eyes
Of the vigilant spies,
Who are in every
Other woman and man
In and around.
A kind of genocide.
28.04.2002, pkd
Rm.Shanmugam Chettiar.
http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/love-dies-as-bud/
