Saturday, May 21, 2011


Some air, some light, some rain,
Some smiles, some tears. Some pain,
Its all about few victories, few defeats,
Its all about loss and gain,
It is the life,
It has its own style,
Some are fed in silver spoon,
Some sleep on earth, viewing the moon,
It sometimes starts in beautiful cradle,
& sometimes becomes a complex riddle,
It is the life,
A mystery of its own type,
It is about few stories of fame,
& about a war to establish the name,
It is about winning love of someone,
Or about tolerating the hatred & ignorance, being a numb,
It is the life,
Each one has to strive,
It is sometimes about joys and celebrations,
& sometimes covers with blood & toil, in search of destination,
It is the refreshing drop of dew, on the flower petal,
It is also a drop of sweat of a soldier, fighting a battle,
It is the life,
Sometimes new, sometimes stereotypical type,
It is all about some strangers, some unknowns,
It is then about some loved ones, someone our own,
It is about few words, few talks,
It is about a long silent walk,
It is the life,
It’s special in its own type,
It is the insult, it is the respect,
Sometimes full of flaws, sometimes perfect,
It is all from first to last breath,
It is a story starting from birth and ending on death,
It is the life,
A story of its own type.

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