The year will
die tonight
and a new one
will come and take its place
this has been
and this shall be
ever and ever
in to the eternity
and in to the time
but i shall not be
always there
to light candles
and break in to applause
on the stroke of midnight
no one shall be
we are allotted
only few midnights
and few candles
and few fireworks
we are strange
we know all
but we pretend
we know not
every minute
every day
we wither away
the decay is in
our genes
in the programme
and then a moment
we cease to be
going away
as if a whisper
between the leaves
as if
a bubble with the rain
let us party tonight
wear our caps
pointed up
in to the sky
let us pretend
we are immortal
never to die
never to decay
till the lights are on
till the stroke of midnight
let us dance
to the beat of time
to the wink of stars
and to the whiff of leaves
let us dance
to the rustle of dresses
to the paint on lips
to the scents in the
room
to the looks
of amorous night
to the sacredness of souls
let us drink
to the tears of
children
sweat of men and
the blood of women
let us sing
to the sprout of buds
to the golden wheat
to the luster of corn
to the milk
to the honey
and to the nectar
to the bees
and to the birds
till the midnight
the stroke of twelve.
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