When was
and where
that the world named fair,
no border curbed our reaching apple boughs,
no margin to our feelings
no line
made us to draw our swords?
Where nothing could justify
hurting an innocent
no language or colour would cause
to burn your bones
in the furnace of people eyes.
When the kindness and friendship was not
losing to the fashion or pragmatism,
and to the cold irons
and ruthless bayonets
that feel nothing but to broaden the borders of where they cut
Where sincerity was not lost
in the rams of markets
in the jungle of democracy of thorns and weeds
in the jungle of
tyranny
the desert for existence of roses and tulips.
When friendship and love
never was a spit returning at your face,
honour and truth and bravery were counted virtues
and cowards were not hiros and reptilians
were not moderating righteous hearts,
and no dagger
was sharp enough
to cut the throat of an honest soul.
Where the grudges were not daggers
not even a pocket knife.
