[nukkad]

["aryaone" <>]

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MY HILLS OF HOME

We have come far, and evening shadows gather around
Long ago, in familiar places, with well loved faces, we played
And days went uncounted, and nights in sleepful dreams
And we loved, and lost, and gained, and gathered in wanton air.

Now we are in a land of gold, which glitters, but cannot be grasped
The forests are green, and peacocks preen, but are made of plastic and paint
Everyone is running, flying, taking, keeping, fighting, playing, slaying
With painted faces, and strident graces, in parlor and pulpit and penthouse
Where is the delicate touch of heart, without which nights are cold, days
old?

Come let us away, lost are the hills of home and places small but bright
I cannot stay and I cannot go, may not say nor speak
All those who would listen have faded away
All my places of bygone days are gone
In this lonely gray night, I am by myself and alone.

Farewell, my hills of home.

Courtesy The Hills of Home. Copyright Dr. Hormuzd Edul Kaikobad 2000.
All rights reserved.














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