A Fortune Called Life

A solitary youth sitting down, under the expanse of an ageing tree

Tries to resolve the questions, of which he wishes to set himself free,

'Strange is this inconceivably mystical game called life

For some it is pleasure, for others a continuous strife.'

'Why is it yet believed to be the most precious of gifts

Which the lord bestows upon us without a trace of thrift'

He deeply wishes to procure the answers

To put an end to the misery that he suffers

From a distance, there flies an answer, through the unsullied air

And comes around and sits close to his rugged feet, very bare

It is a bird that elates the heart and sings of merriment and joy

The nightingale, that has enchanted many a heart, that were even coy.

She plays a tune, a significant tune that pleases him in unaccountable measures

And instills in him again, a faith that from life one can derive a whole lot of pleasures

If one always looks at the bright edges and suitably overlooks all of the displeasing ruins

Even if the tide turns against ones favour, one shall not readily succumb to the wounds.

It is the man who maintains the strongest foothold on the ground

That finally embraces the happiness and joy that possesses no count

A treasury comprising success, prosperity, faith and a certain sense of pride

For achieving what was once thought unattainable due to remarks that were snide.

He gallops like a stallion in the glory of his now satiating life

For he has been through his fair share of undulating strife

The youth’s question thus answered he now gives rest to his mind full of disarray

And with a more resolved feeling of the heart, gets up to retire, and calls it a day.

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