No rice, stones remain.

Years expire, annually born clouds give rain, thunderstorms -
Secrecies of the drowned increase, lotus leaves die silently
In ponds. Roots, coiled and slender pitifully shelter in lives
Yet no canopy, no shelter - none on men of one-spoon rice.

Men endear gunpowder, they smell it like incense

Ministers blow trumpets , war horses gallop in skylights
Cops go brooming , goodbyes and farewells in their gunshots-
An empty cowshed is more loved than one playful cow.

Omniscient palaces unlock the unresolved -
With utmost ease, only man goes scot-free
He is not yet a stone. But if you, throw stones
At him - make sure you injure him, let him hiss,
Lest nations laugh, when the stones of glory
Of a nation wrought in glory break apart.
No canopy - none - no rice - what use is stone
What glory in festivals - in you?