White Dove

Gone are the days of blossoms,
Of roses, lily and cute possums,
Of rising sun and rise some more,
Of growl none but roar galore.

Gone are the days of merry,
Of apple cheeks n lips cherry,
Of silence at sea and ferry ride,
Of nothing red just peace white.

Gone are the days of beer n rum,
Of Sir sweetsalot, no cheeni-kam,
Of cakes bakes and milk shakes,
Of high octane n apply no brakes.

Gone are the days of give no hoot,
Of calmness none, emotions brute,
Of tiger jump and dragonistic fly,
Of crude anger and baby like cry.

Gone are the days of cigar rings,
Of hash leaves, delusion it brings,
Of dance wild like no tomorrow,
Of sipping away sadness n sorrow.

Gone are the days of diwali holi,
Of bursting crackers with the toli,
Of lighting candles, whole street,
Of enjoying more being indiscreet.

Gone are the days of count no sin,
Of standing up, taking on the chin,
Of tears out on losing dear love,
Of feathers cozy of the white dove.