The attire is white, orange, black or brown, <br />Scalp is covered with a cap or a turban, <br />Faces are shaven or bearded with moustache, <br />These men are forced to live what we dispatch. <br /> <br />Their hands are held with the tools they wanted, <br />The markers, scalpels, mouse, scales and red wines, <br />They are so efficient in the art of deceptions, <br />Masters of manipulations, the kind hearted words worth. <br /> <br />When the pilgrimage is not done, the beds are rocked, <br />When the bells are not rung, the sleep is not disrupted, <br />A moment in life is the moment to cherish and preserve as the pickles, <br />The livings enjoy while the dead of misfits are buried as the wicked. <br /> <br />The osteoporosis back bends a little bit, <br />when the sainthood awaits at the door step, <br />when men stop hallucinating multitudes of breasts, <br />this earth will stand still and the women may not rejoice. <br /> <br /> <br /> <br /> <br /> <br />,<br /><br />veeraiyah subbulakshmi<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/what-you-say-may-not-what-you-mean/
