DEEDS OF MEN

 Men grow old

And perish

Its only their pulse

That comes to a hold

But their deeds are

Still relished

For we have seen

The body withers

And decays with time

But it’s their memoir

That lives on

Screaming at us

From oblivion

Thriving on to remind

That we are the creator

And not his mime

For their reminiscence

Are immortal as the sunshine

That continues to live on

Destroying the dark of time. 
                                                        -Vamsee Mohan