Smelling the aroma does strum a string inside
Taking a sip brings the memory so precise
Of the wooden doors and glass panes
And the playful ways we would count the grains
Of the many pomegranate we would pluck
Remember leaving all of it to luck?
Ah! We were the boss of the world
Owning anything that caught our eyes
But now we are just following the herd
Totally inconsiderate of the million cries.
The silver lining is yet to arrive
Before we tire ourselves with all the strife.
Heaven’s a better place to rest than hell
So there could be many more chais we smell.