By Kamlesh Tripathi
IN THE ‘MARCH-PAST’ OF LIFE
In the march-past of life,
I often had to fight for my right,
So also, in the march-past of life,
I often had to fight for my plight.
Where in the backwaters of my aspirations,
There was always a march-past of ambitions,
And in the animation of my fantasies,
A march-past of tribulations.
For in the spate of luck,
My share was low,
But in the spirit of struggle,
My march-past was rife.
For who cares and cares who?
As you are a small fry,
But the march-past of life,
Took me to the skies.
And in the barracks of life,
Whenever it begins to twilight,
I pull out my boots,
For a march-past of another kind.
Though names and definitions change,
March-past remains the same,
And even though it has no great name,
March-past is the gateway to fame.
And march-past is divine,
As it quarantines,
The unwanted malware of your mind,
Just to keep you in line.