i do not understand
the fuss or the cuss
of the troubled,
or the troubling tribe.
when here is
plenty of blooming
colors on the tender tendrils-
to be touched &
to be treasured.
i do not understand
the reason behind
the grumpy face
or weather beaten spirit.
what is ‘that’ belief
that can be crushed?
what is ‘that’ spirit
that can be conquered?
i do not understand
the troubles of
the troubling tribe
other than, they
in themselves,
are troubled.
for, they think
yet, not clear enough
to see themselves
as gifts of the god
that we are
sent on earth
to carve a better
out of each
encounter.
and ‘life’! o dear life!
sweet and bitter, at times-
not to be lavished with words;
holds wisdom
in the mysterious
inside.
between the crowd
and the solidarity,
between the melody of maiden
and the wail of widow,
between the dawn of celebration
and the dusk of mourning;
time is falling short,
and life- much shorter!
so, do not cry for getting a job,
when you can create plenty.
do not hold grudge to the past,
who holds nothing
against you.
do not drink the sour
tears of heartbreak,
when here is plenty of
heartbroken
trying to
find love.
do not fear your pyre,
for, that blazing bliss
makes now
worth living!
(just let out the child
that hides in you…
let it play in plenty
among the empty
sands.)
