The rose tinted glasses of childhood,
Are imbued with nectar
and scudding rains of water
falling on a mind
thirsty to drink like a parched land .
We see butter yellow sunshine
melting away on the land
Bright and clear,
in all shining grandeur . .
With purity and people,
so intoxicating and simple .
But the tint gets flayed
as pass on the decades
and the radiant rainbow fades,
As water rusts the blades,
of mind and facade.
Nothing is left to peep
But for our minds, in shit deep .
And the lake that turns filthy
Stinking of rotting souls.
Where is the land ?
It is a manhole !
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