Happiness: We rarely feel it.
I would buy it, beg it, steal it,
Pay in coins of dripping blood
For this one transcendent good.
-Amy Lowell
Gifted with wings of butter and gold,Out he came from his silky mold.
Enjoying the breeze and the morning sun,
Fluttering his wings , the journey had begun.
No more a life than a phase of the moon,
But such a sorrow in his flight is not borne.
A small gust of wind does make him sway,
But he does cheerfully make back his way.
He settled onto a bed of flowers,
Embracing 'em as though lovers.
He moved on from one to another,
Sucking honey as a baby from the bosom of his mother.
He lingered around each of them long,
Dancing to a perfectly crafted song,
And etching every moment in his memories,
Moments forever treasured and savory.
Alas! Now it is time for me to go,
To attend to my morning chores.
His life - a lesson for me and all ,
To be happy in spite of any fall.
I still watched him mused ,fading from my view,
Over the yellow,flower laden hills .
Each flower an experience, he will move on ,
Till time wouldn't stop- to wait for him anymore.
--Rahul Nair
12-MAY-2008
Disclaimer : Image has been obtained from the web and I do not claim any ownership for it.
