Have you seen the mountain lion?
What of the coins between it jaws?
Those are the price tags for a good life
Have you heard of honey caved in rocks?
It remains the sweetest juice of all,
But can you crush the bones of earth?
When the legends say "Art is life"
They know it feeds the heart and mind,
For satisfactions comes from its crafts
But will they hear our stomach's cry?
Will they kill the flames of our hunger?
At the expense of blissful lives we write.
Even when the sun gives in to darkness,
And the moon comes not at sunsets,
We will never drain the bloods of our pen
For when our letters fall on the earth,
And it sinks in the depths of aging times
It will sprout as tree feeding human kind.
Will we ever live a good and better life?
Will art fetch us smooth and tarred paths?
What essence is there in those we write?
What hope is there in our hopeful scribes?
When will words stand as symbol of pride?
Those are the five questions we have to ask.