The Grapes Are Sour!
by mazHur

when a Jawan(young man) gets rusted with time
and is unable to raise his little finger
or kick the ball with his bat,
then spring doesn't interest him;
he becomes blinded to the colors of flowers;
his sense of smell shuns fragrance;
he feels sick with life's enjoyments,
hates company of imps and elves;
neither he can pull the string
nor kites remain under his shaky control;
his mind flies high like clouds,
he sighs at the gloom and curses time;
loses himself in sad memories of his past;
hides his face from the mirror of light;
wallows in a dark corner of his house
in loneliness and whenever Basant( a spring kite-flying festival) comes,
he has nothing to inspire but to murmur in his heart:
''the grapes are sour !""