I don’t know, exactly,
What is this called ‘Life’?
Some painted emotions,
Or the tainted strife,
I don’t know exactly,
What is this called ’Life’
Walking through, bed of roses,
Or at the edge of knife,
Lament over the stars,
Intriguing and innate,
Frisking and fatal,
Energetic and enchanting,
I don’t know, the point,
How should I rate,
Or am I just late?,
I don’t know, the joint,
Life might become a rainbow,
Piercing drops of heart,
Alas, eradication of dirt,
Is but Oh God, so slow,
Winter of heaven,
The crux of life is unknown,
A walking zombie,
Life,
Is just,
Like the cards,
Packed in the box,
Waiting to show us,
Their true worth in the game,
But are we really smart,
Picking the right card, the right time,
Or Alas, we are just trying, and,
Are trying to pretend that winning smile
All those soaring clouds defines the life,
Emotive droplets, hidden sighs,
Felicitating nature,
Those blind and deaf creatures,
Are the synonyms,
For, so called Life,
We are still,
Feeding,
Lies,
No matter what we say,
Life is still unknown,
No matter how we stay,
We make our canvas alone,
Carving on the mud or stone.
Poet - Diwakar Pokhriyal
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