THE HIGH-TECH

Piled up money in banks,

And the rest cumulated in sacks,

The young, handsome, high-tech man

Languishing his life in city streets.

The shopping malls and posh parlours,

Now of no vitality to him, dead.

And the stuffed food repels his taste buds;

With a relentless row of vehicles

Sending out smell in smoky packs.

The oceanic vehicles, thoughtless of him,

And the flight of the busy birds

Making a rope way out of electric lines;

The extraneous, succulent, cosmopolitan dishes

And the cafes serving solid wisdom,

Shackles him in a sickly limbo.

Marriage, to him a crude drudgery

For he gets plenty in profligate means.

The night dances begin to pall on him,

With the tedium of coloured lips.

Posh restaurants, no surrogate

To the virtuous arms of artless mother!

And the foliage of the banyan trees

Defeats the luxury of costly flats.