He is running or a limping walk?
How far he runs?
He is tired and stopped!
And how long he could wait?
Promises are like gas-balloons in the sky.
He straightens a rickety ladder and climbs the greasy steps carefully
To pluck the cluster grapes.
A run away rabies infected fox pulls the ladder and cries down;
'Life is nothing but only a fistful of bitter grapes.'
To my dear friend Jerry for his promising health and also to Max.Reif and Dennis.Joe of their lull.
*[ It's really funny and strange, still I remember what the poor street lunatic said a long time ago after seeing my crotchety palm; 'Hey! My comrade keep your toy gun aside and you are not belongs to your motherland anymore.Your natural death will occurs in a foreign land some day.]
nimal dunuhinga
http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/a-running-man-fox-bitter-grapes/
