A Pair Of Nomad

We are the nomads, can’t claim anything from the world, Backpacking the arrows of piercing sharp loads, Meeting of unprepared people who are shrewd, Carrying the bags of signed documents with proof, Hunting is our trade, hunting of meek and the strong, Wearing of the new attire during the birth, Now stained and shrunk with climatic fare, Those attires are still fresh and shine as the silver, These attires are mixed as the rose and white gold, We are the hunters, searching for the dollars, In every nook and corner of this pitiful abode, The sky scrapers may be reminiscent of high spirit, The mines are left to be the gallows of future kids, They may not know how to hunt in real life. Pressing the buttons for the arrival of the prey, Touching the screen for the dispose of weapons, Nocturnal nonstop play in front of a single screen, Human may be left to enjoy or suffer in silence, The nomads and hunters may be gone forever, But a pair of rings still has the strength, To mine the cut the diamonds from the, Raw and naked souls that long for love.