JUST A STORY
It is in their little dance,
For he commited the sin of defying
Pondered he for long enough in the woods,
Towards the skies he wondered
But bereft of his life back with thee
He weakened to scumble to the devil on spree
And for a moment he found happiness in abounds
Strolling, he reached the gates of tophet
Sulking, he became a merry prophet
And that is what now made him free
Until one day he fell to glee
Glee of life and glee of death
Glee of sunny morns and oblong wreaths
Glee of wide rivers that flow
And the glee of heat that melts thick snow
Thus, awoken in his very self,
he lived for life, died for death
Searching yet that very thought
Glee, ecstasy and bliss for long
Isn't it but what the poet has longed for long?
Isn't it the reader's very thought?
Hasn't the lord created us in bliss?
And our very blood stems from it?
For in a game so sombre that we all live all long
In a small world where happiness slowly treads
Looking for dark for light is all that spreads
It is in these rays of light
that the sun grims around
It is in their shallow bath
That the moon smiles about
It is in their little dance,
that the leaves tap to sip
He had to live himself
Of that beam of glee
He hovered unnerved in the Eden of thee...
And as a shadow I traced his gait
He shuddered as and refuted my gaze
And yet as fell the spell of rains
He began to ponder on the meaning of gains
Resilient to reach back his former truth
He chose to stick to what other booth
And there descended banishment from heaven,
Interwoven in the divine songs and rhymes
For he commited the sin of defying
And indeed the god being himself within
He accepted without denying
Pondered he for long enough in the woods,
Towards the skies he wondered
But bereft of his life back with thee
He weakened to scumble to the devil on spree
And for a moment he found happiness in abounds
Strolling, he reached the gates of tophet
Sulking, he became a merry prophet
And that is what now made him free
Until one day he fell to glee
Glee of life and glee of death
Glee of sunny morns and oblong wreaths
Glee of wide rivers that flow
And the glee of heat that melts thick snow
Thus, awoken in his very self,
he lived for life, died for death
Searching yet that very thought
Glee, ecstasy and bliss for long
Isn't it but what the poet has longed for long?
Isn't it the reader's very thought?
Hasn't the lord created us in bliss?
And our very blood stems from it?
For in a game so sombre that we all live all long
Forgetting the reason for life along
It is to sing, it is to bring
The calls of hearts to the lipsy chimes
And there we all stand even in dark
Wondering on the meaning of meaningless barks
There I again, a shadow of mine
Sing aloud the songs of time
In these songs vest my million thoughts
The songs of life and songs of death.
And so, I stride happily in this world
A world of sparks and a world of spurts,
In these songs vest my million thoughts
The songs of life and songs of death.
And so, I stride happily in this world
A world of sparks and a world of spurts,
It is this world that holds all spark
It is this world that hold all glee
A poet cannot be more gay
But to embark upon a happy spree....
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