The Return Of The Romantic

There comes a time in everybody's life When one keeps floating and flowing In a dreamy And dramatic way, Feeling free and uninhibited, Smiling with the flowers, Talking to And smiling In the adda of his own, A hero in the making Stylistic and fashionable, Becoming the matter of the talk Of the side heroines And the heroine. But there also a comes a time in the life Of the hero When he starts falling, The flowers come not into the sweet dreams, Under the stars and the moon And their mysterious twinkles and moonshine, Babbles he not, Smiles he not, Prefers to be alone, Returning dejected and forlorn From the Love City Of the beloved, Slapped by the hardcore realities Of this real life. O young man playing the role Of a musician, A singer Or an announcer, Life is not the stage of a theatre, Life is not What you envisage Into the sweet dreams of yours, Life not so imaginative and fanciful, Look back on those Who struggle, sacrifice and suffer And for whom look you A hero, But that too is coming to a close With the theatre closing down! Frustrated and forlorn, the romantic Returning into the steps of his, Fatigued and depressed After being beaten on the life front And failed, Loved and lost, Flirted and deceived he And now life deceiving And betraying him For what he did, What he took it for romanticism As to love and abandon Is not at all romanticism And to dress stylistically too is not As a loafer too dresses in the likewise manner.