Alas ! It’s true my pal;
To be born is the greatest curse of all.
There was a boy born on a certain twelfth,
Little did he know where he would be dwelt.
Coming into this world of filth,
He grew up to be a myth.
Heart clutched by the jaws of nature,
Soul sprinkled with sweetness,
Eyes sparkling with the promise of future,
He sure was on the path to greatness.
He seemed happy, but his world was gloom.
Desperately seeking a window to his room.
One day he saw a girl so subtle,
That his feelings began to rattle.
First time she gave him that look,
He was pushed to the nook.
(Time went by)
She laughed at his jokes,
He blushed at her pokes.
Thoughts were shared, colors were reared,
They would be there, till the end of world stared.
But, LUCK had to play her part,
It all ended before they could start.
She lay cold, in the middle of road.
Blood around her in bold.
He went back beating the blues.
Drowning in the ocean of rues.
In a hour of respite,
He asked god with all his might.
What is it with LUCK ?
Whom does it ” **** ” ?
Don’t you understand what i say ?
Or, is it one of the tricks that you play.
The eclipse is lasting too long,
Would you come if i wrote you an other song ?
Where are you my son ?
It’s me calling, why do you shun ?
Life’s calling…Where are you !
Reach for the clouds, for there are few.
Remember it’s true, every fall;
To never have been born might have been the greatest boon of all !