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life without goals and dreams is useless and meaningless its like a long road and you don’t know where should i go,charisma of life is finished when you have no goals. My goal and aim in life is to…

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Woodstock

All around us shades fade, music, makeup,

Parked cars on beautiful, emerald fields and

Giant mud-covered, resurfacing hills

Wailing fans, red cans, a Whiskey Man,

A cup of beer, or two, can’t do for The Who,

Who give peace; it’s the only subject matter.

Dying souls, black holes, nebulas that flatter

On posters, advertising their lovely tunes.

Such beauty in sound, rock and roll, Indie,

And the Blues. Santana ties his bandana as

Djembes clang to his palms in Evil Ways.

Wet skin, eyes spin, tobacco tins for hippie men,

Feet dancing to Tim Hardin, oh, so many sins.

Hands holding the sky, vitality from the stars,

Drugs, hugs, every lung tugs on laced cigars.

Shimmering hairs, bogs of smog hangs over

The melodies, felonies, penalties, detainees

Of sharp guitar strings. Hendrix voice rings

Over a mountain out there, stunning all pairs

Of ears. Excitement, incitement, reclined chairs,

And empty kegs where Country Joe stares

At a cosmos of hot mud, dimples, a few pimples,

Grass, fine green, on hills blowing milky steam

Like a smoking bonfire. White lines on mirrors

Vacuumed up nostrils, making it all so clearer

To the strands of stands beating pans to The Band.

Such celestial hearts, minds lost in the detestable,

Interstellar demons kissing the sweet pains

Away through their veins, as Richie Havens

Sings his “Freedom Reins” in the angry rains.

Peace, love, wake up drunk to the sounds of funk,

Waving American flags, tattered bags, groovy rags

With Jefferson Airplane, maiming the disdain for the

Liquid spills and tired hills. Fill empty bottles of pills

For the thrills of motions, circulations, and devotion

Bouncing to the heart beats, drum beats, thunder beats.

Life all around, ‘Nam in bound, but not a sound

Will ever be as free as Woodstock was for me.

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