Life

Life,

Out of nothing it starts,

And into nothing it ends.

It gifts you with pleasure,

And with scars,

Which never mend.

A merchant of Time,

That borrows, but never lends.

Keeping you enthralled,

Through its ups and downs,

Straight lines and bends.

A journey which means –

Everything and nothing.

Where nothing ever changes,

But where everything is decided by trends.

Through thick and through thin,

Its lessons it sends.

A pain-staking exercise,

Taught by both enemies and friends.

Life, out of nothing it starts,

And into nothing it ends.

 

Odd fellow

As I rested my head on my pillow,

My head was filled with hopes of a better tomorrow,

But as I woke, I only felt a recurring sorrow,

A lurking gloom, leaving me feeling hollow.

A lasting regret, a bitter pill to swallow,

To know that I can be described as yellow,

A fretful being, never known to be mellow,

And to live with the stigma of being an odd fellow.

 

Unworldly

In the early stages of my Life’s construction,

I would unwittingly press the button,

Of Self-Destruction.

I did this when I could never find,

The Self-Confidence,

To bring me any peace of mind.

Since this confidence remains elusive,

And its lacking still an obstruction,

I can’t but help remain reclusive,

Until I bring about my Life’s reconstruction.

I could never have foretold,

That by merely feeling unworthy,

Such damage would unfold,

Such damage that’s proving- unworldly.

 

Changing Seasons

Winter’s arriving,

And a part of me is glad.

Though when one season comes,

The other must depart,

Which usually leaves me feeling sad.

This Summer’s progress though has been but few,

And I know Winter leaves little chance to start anew.

The Summer was filled with sunshine,

But without much rain,

Which made progress a pain,

And since something was lacking,

I hardly made a gain.

So I enter Winter still searching for missing pieces,

But should I hope for what I’m looking for,

In the season when almost everything decreases?

 

 

 

 

 

Perhaps

Perhaps, if I were stone,

And not made of flesh and bone,

It wouldn’t hurt this much,

To be so lowly.

Perhaps, if I were withered grain,

Without blood flowing through my veins,

It wouldn’t hurt this much,

To feel so lonely.

Messages of the Marooned

Although this place is now firmly my abode,

I can’t help but yearn to tread another road.

A path away from this empty place,

A way out of this meaningless space.

I now crave for more than just a place of respite,

I yearn for company, for pleasure and delight.

I have become desperate to connect with another mind,

I feel so empty here, cast off, and left behind.

But I fear that a castaway is all I can be,

I fear that being imprisoned is my only means to be free.

 

 

Fortified

There’s a sadness, an emptiness in me,

That I cannot explain.

Perhaps it’s what’s meant by:

“The walls we build around us,

keep out the joy as well as the pain.”

Why so sad?

We live in a world where many are sad,

Where one man’s misery makes another glad,

Where one man’s triumph makes another mad,

Where we despise those who have what we never had,

Where we look for reasons to label another as bad,

Where strangers offer more comfort than mom or dad,

And where our kin’s discontent is ironclad,

Are those the reasons we are so sad?