Unlucky to trace a gentle-man ,
Who is the master of his tongue,
And can mince words of wisdom,
Ignoring the conversation of lung.

Ever since I was born in a barn,
And recognize words making sense,
I am on the look out for sensible man,
Who is not insensitive about nuisance.

Came across countless great talkers,
And words from running noses of doers,
But yet to embrace a decent one,
Who do not believe in sense won.

Market is filled with breed of orators,
Who are hired and fired on war footings,
At the fancy of political perpetrators,
For pseudo speeches and wall blurbs.

With lightning and erratic speed,
Devoid of essence, place and time greed,
Literate men dole out with rumbling noise,
The words that are out of context and poise.

When I criss-cross Peon to boss,
And listen to their loose and booze talk,
Gets flabbergasted of the garbage mass,
Only to enter into the trance of wild rock.

— G.C. Rao
01 – 08- 2006