[Photo Source] (https://pixabay.com/photos/bouquet-wedding-bouquet-table-1566272)
Beauty not yet in the body,
A course of sweetness the tongue tarries to touch,
A scene of daintily birthed beauty,
Silk to the eyes of a rough world.
A soft air of fluttering beauties,
Originated from delicate wings of powder.
Flowers rolling so as the cloud,
Silvered around it lining,
And woolly within it heart.
It pays to sit at this table,
A cycle of mutual feelings,
Not borne out of love,
Neither is it moulded in the heart,
Its just an inner reckoning of gains,
Of a million billion coins,
Ringing in the coffers of the rich,
Not yet ready for the wealth.
Oh! How i hunger to sit at the table,
How i thirst for the waters of riches,
To be reckoned among men in men.
And dine before the die is caste.
Its does not scrabble for beauty,
Nor look upon the comely,
Its rolls over the palms,
Of whom it picks.
Oh my heart bear to tarry a while,
While i walk and work toward my banquet.
