Life is like a piece of pickle
flavored by our actions every hour
swaying our experience palate
an enjoyable delight, tasting sweet and sour
It's a game of thoughts,
a whole lot of dreams to fiddle,
a pat on our back, a hit on our head
or a shaky tickle.
Everyone tramping to reach the highest tower,
exhausting our olfactory, it's like a delicate flower.
We have stepped in a palace of creation,
with stars in our eyes
holding our bag of anticipations
all gifted with leapord's paw
thought sphere obeying
The Newton's Third Law,
Consequently resulting into our deeds,
determining the fulfillment or increment f our needs.
To rest under the shade of our life tree
knowingly or unknowingly, sowing the seeds.
Reflecting our perception of beauty
golden, emerald, stones in string of time
making our presentable necklace of deed beads.
There are certain obstacles,
examinations set by us,
the game is at a very crucial stage
when our thoughts create a fuss.
Surrendering means worthless age,
losing gives a challenge to face,
winning turns exam's next page.
In every failure we win,
but no attempt is a sin.
Everytime, obsessed with thoughts
containing charge or emotion
the process of creation is set into motion,
coming out of our situational thoughts
is what, whole age, we are taught.
Meaning of existence is held at pity,
when our thoughts and action lack
SYNCHRONICITY.
Dangling our emotions, from cold to hot,
in the oven of life,
with hammering of hardships
we, like irons, are wrought.
OR,
Life is a flower,
we as honey bees
suck the Love nectar.
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