Wearing the garb of innocence
And, the veil of feigned modesty
We see those we call saints today,
And in the tavern of shame
Cup on many an empty cup
Inebriation, shows the way.

Cos as does the saint
So does the scheming devil
Within each one reside,
And the streaks of goodness
In the hearts of some
A natural death, died.

So, let us not brand
One or the other
For we’re all much the same,
By Destiny buffeted
Ground to dust
And, some riding the pinnacle of transient fame.

There would no evil ever be
But for mortality
That we all, fearfully, face,
O Time, you are to surely blame
For shortcuts we take in your name
To breast the tape in life’s race.

Everything here’s a coin, Ashok
Everything with two sides to it
The good, the bad and the uncouth,
Frogs in the pond,
Frogs on the ground,
Words we can trust,
And the uncouth.

(The author is a prolific poet who has over 30 poetry books to his credit. He can be reached at ashoksawhny06@gmail.com/ www.ashoksawhny.com)