For me for them (2005)

Take away those gifts of adoration,
Give me not, those fresh flowers
Glistening with the aura of fresh morning dew-
Give me a heart throbbing in those breasts few.

From her - whose child is the sun,
She - who nourishes my hope
Scoffing at the pranks of cosmic fun;
Her love, that makes a man - a man.

From her shall I take the lessons of life,
And its her who will heal all strife;
But not a woman who with a silken veil -
Nourishes her heart too numb, to feel.

Its her I see inspiring my art,
And her I feel with me should depart -
Where the strength of heart, overruns the head
Which renders generations perpetually dead.

From him- who stands by a bleak city wall,
Arms outstretched but standing tall,
For his days are fickle gifts of those
Who once had made the mighty fall.

Or take it from a young just born,
While it sleeps as innocent as a spring morn.
For its eyes are flames that would burn,
Unsure minds of the antique man.

At least pick-up one from Stalingrad snow,
With a red salute and a passionate bow - 
For the heart of a peasant forever beats
Even if a bullet through his head did go.

Or from the breast of a hero lost,
Who dreamt for freedom at any cost;
And was undone by his own dear breed
As anarchy was born of a democratic deed.

So I watch the fickle raindrops fall,
Like a caravan of men unable to stall
Before they drop in a puddle of mud,
Being filled in silence, beside a cemetery wall.

Oh! Bring me an ounce of 'em hearts my friend,
And stitch it to my breast of a bleeding man;
Whose death does mark another birth,
For a heart so new, turns green the desert sand.