Awaiting the Mahatma

What remains is a path
Upon which time has played her tricks,
Shrouded by the enemies of man-
Deception, deceit and treachery.

A path which great men trod upon,
Waving their magic wands,
Making princes of frogs and roses of furze-
Leading a revolution.

What a time that was,
When greatness knew no bound and malice but lay asleep
In the darkest parts of the world,
Awaiting its time.

And yet, what a world have we come to,
Where every man is to himself,
And for humanity there is none,
Where love, can but perish, while hate copiously exists.

When the myriad of faces
Look down upon us and ask,
How shall we answer them?
Should we hide our scarred faces in the dark?

Oh! There goes the bird o’ peace,
Soaring away into the sky,
To a distant place we know not,
Never for us to come by.

Now the time has ‘risen,
For us to find that path,
Etched with words and actions of wisdom,
And bright rays of light to dispel the dark.

As we wait for another man
To deliver us from this quandary,
We bring upon ourselves, the walls of doom,
Oh! Won’t the Mahatma come back soon.