Born on a holy day but not incarnated,
25 years passed since this persecution started.
An ordinary being, not a prodigy,
Wandered most of his life aimlessly like that’s his hobby.
Encumbered with desires and aspirations galore,
Trying to watch the other end of the ocean from the shore.
Inside there was always a hunger unsatisfied,
He never succeeded but he toiled and strived.
Colliding million thoughts inside head,
He started from A but never reached Z.
Nature wasn’t indulgent to him and invariably in strife,
So he turned a masochist, as for him that was something called life.
Cursed with agony and distress,
He never tried to make a fuss.
Tried to wriggle free from infliction and pain,
He did all he could but all in vain.
Came a time when he was in the state of oblivion,
He was helpless, numb and incompetent to bear on.
One way was to start crying,
The other that he pick was to keep trying.
Obscuring his apprehensions and fears,
Since then tips of his eyes are holding his tears.
With confidence in his eyes and smile on his face,
He is marching ahead with no misgivings but grace.
Still skeletons tumble down from cupboard at times,
Now he try to care less and says I’m fine.
Beacon may not be lit,
But hope is what drives this misfit.
Hardships and severities are rife,
Not just a story but that’s life....
25 years passed since this persecution started.
An ordinary being, not a prodigy,
Wandered most of his life aimlessly like that’s his hobby.
Encumbered with desires and aspirations galore,
Trying to watch the other end of the ocean from the shore.
Inside there was always a hunger unsatisfied,
He never succeeded but he toiled and strived.
Colliding million thoughts inside head,
He started from A but never reached Z.
Nature wasn’t indulgent to him and invariably in strife,
So he turned a masochist, as for him that was something called life.
Cursed with agony and distress,
He never tried to make a fuss.
Tried to wriggle free from infliction and pain,
He did all he could but all in vain.
Came a time when he was in the state of oblivion,
He was helpless, numb and incompetent to bear on.
One way was to start crying,
The other that he pick was to keep trying.
Obscuring his apprehensions and fears,
Since then tips of his eyes are holding his tears.
With confidence in his eyes and smile on his face,
He is marching ahead with no misgivings but grace.
Still skeletons tumble down from cupboard at times,
Now he try to care less and says I’m fine.
Beacon may not be lit,
But hope is what drives this misfit.
Hardships and severities are rife,
Not just a story but that’s life....
