Life As Such Makes Me Sometimes A Poet

See how the day comes to close So quick and so brief like a rose Bloomed and withered when little known And I'll mourn lying down Cheerless and alone Looking at the sky and the stars and the moon Warbling sad notes of optimism That tomorrow shall bring me fortune and wisdom And not known amidst my anxiety and weariness When I submit to my visitant's wish Of a quite slumber at this early hour Of night until unfolded is the day like a flower Graced with dews and sunshine Wafting gently in the morning breeze The fragrant breath of joys of my toil, My sweat, my industry, my energy and my travail Under whose delicate touch open petals of my day In which I endeavor to render them with the hope's ray Brighter than the sun And purer than the blessed light of heaven For my heart always seeks to stay complacent With being a man of low profile as a peasant Though I strive to bloom infinite flowers of smile In the face of my countrymen as if my own soul With lots of grain, vegetable, fruit and food My struggles seem not to end with a loaf of bread When I think this life as good as a burden For I have money sufficient to go to heaven But insufficient to go for hell of things For the sustenance of this life as I am failing To meet both ends of my children and wife Oh, my friend tell me is this life? "See I wished to die every day and even today But God postponed it to another day and next day Telling me to be as patient as weather as this wandering clime Of life would bring some rain in a while And in between rain and dry spell I saw life In a cup of grief overflowing its brim with joy's relief Of purple flowers and garlands green And a sun that nothing could cloud but to shine" Mused and mused while sipping the tea of lemon In a stall with no roof and walls and could be seen The sun above dropping down in the west And the sky rimmed with color amethyst Until my interruption to decorate Him a real philosopher-poet though he writes not Nor his soul ever seen to throb audibly as today As delivering offhand verse of stresses and strains intermittently Here amidst philosophy in a soliloquy Things oft heard poetized while in pain and agony And at length uttering forth perhaps a fit peroration Not without let or thrall as "life is a narcotic-an anodyne Despite euphoria, stupor, or coma or oblivion We love to be intoxicated with it often"