We gathered around the ancient tree
For knowledge was being imparted
Men of liquid worth were being made
They were being poured into rigid molds,
Of blinded order, toil and loyalty, but their souls;
Oh their souls though, still cried to be free.
Oh mighty Creator of being, set me free,
Let me taste the unknown, and sing in glee
Propagate the change that will multiply my kind,
And we will fly
Unimpeded, unarmed by cruel cries
Of these cold jeweled holy lies.
We walked further in time
Like young blind children in a chained line,
Moving aimlessly at the sound of a distant success chime.
Yet, how high could a man climb?
While dunes of memories wither by
The ever-inclining road to the unseen afterlife.
I want to stop now, by a quite small town,
It is called the Land of Present, Today and this Hour.
Its vast green meadows ring
the bells of my ambition.
I have waited all night dry
For the tender care of its soft drizzling shower.
What have I been running after?
Where is it that I want to reach?
Not another puzzling state of mind,
And force myself to succumb
To the songs of this ancient wisdom,
Oh lukewarm humankind.
Doesn't this congregation of noble men survive
on the beds of inequalities?
And we die trying to reach the far land in time,
where the skies meet the earth,
To bear children in the wilderness of equalities.
But I will not follow you!
I will instead cry,
Oh angels of my quiet side,
Allot me the genuine gentle skills
And I will play a tune far ahead
It will closely knit the sky
To the thick beefy branches of the earth.
And we will remain as one forever,
Right here and right now,
Around this sacred Ancient Tree.
