Skip to main content

Purpose of Life

Exhausted,  exasperated, trodden, burdened and beaten,
Like the dumb driven cattle,
Every living being is an isolated island.
Fuming , fretting , fussing and fighting 
Within and without for reasons unknown and forever impossible to be explored.
Caught between the silky webs of right and wrong,
moral and immoral, 
the more one tries to escape these vicious webs,
The more one gets entangled and trapped.
Choices are infinite,
options at times are countless.
The whole world is as if ebbing around
Good, better and the best,
Fine, finner and the finest.
Amid this never ceasing race Innocent hearts tend to lose all innocence, 
When there seems no purpose and life makes no sense. 
Pinnacle of pelf is when already scaled,
loved ones are in every possible way for future secured and superbly cared,
In the lap of luxury the little ones are cradled.
Velvet road one has already traversed.
Yet, something is amiss,
When pomp and show of the world no more allures,
Delicacies of the world no more stirs the taste buds.
Beauty of the world fails to stimulate and revive.
Meditation fails to be the needed sedative,
Spiritualism fails to be an alternative.
Someone at that hour needs to throw light,
on the ultimate purpose of this accursed life.
But Alas! All life coaches fail
When one gets to peep into their own purposeless lives,
And the grand truth dawns that those all mentors and guides are just penny wise wise.
They are themselves no better than the dumb driven cattle, 
Which has no choice but follow the hand that holds the sturdy stick.
Only reprieve though for a short while in those pensive hours,
when one breathlessly tries to reach for obscure and dubious purpose of life,
Of course are  true and selfless friends, 
Who are no less than elixir but for sure themselves are as lost, 
 and perhaps are themselves surfing for the purpose aforesaid.
After reading this verse if anyone feels that he or she has understood the point,
And can help in cracking the riddle of life,
Then be the poet's guest and accept the invite,
To help wandering beings find out the true purpose of life.


Comments

Post a Comment

Do leave your comments

Popular posts from this blog

Working Mom

  The title of this write-up may make no sense and might seem whimsical to some. Yet, I couldn't think of any other, though I did try to run the horses of my mind for hours to replace it with a better one. Anyhow, its content, I hope, is worth reading. This may sound contrary to me,a language teacher who always guided  pupils to choose eye-catching and gripping titles for their work. Yesterday, a phone call from my twenty-one-year-old daughter led to a discussion  about the parents’ rights over children. I, being a mother, feel that a mother—being the carrier of her baby in the womb for nine long months and then bringing the baby into this world with unimaginable pain has rights to advocate. I told her about how difficult it is for a mother to stay away from her children, especially toddlers. I shared with her the hardest choice I had to make when she was just one and a half years old and my elder child was  three. It was one of the toughest years of my marriage....

When Skill Meets Determination:A Salon, A Story and a Salute

Since time immemorial, both men and women have wished, ventured, and craved to look good, better, and sometimes the best. In every nook and corner of the world, whether in a bustling city, a quiet suburb, or a small village, salons and beauty parlours stand as testimony to this universal desire. With each generation, the dependence on such services has grown, shortcuts have become acceptable, and professional grooming has turned into a necessity rather than a luxury. This observation isn’t a conclusion drawn from research; it is born from personal experience with my twenty-one-year-old daughter. Having recently begun to manage her life independently, she is particular about her appearance and outlook. For the past three years, she has been living abroad and returns home every December for a month. During this time, she sweetly wishes to be pampered in every possible way. One such indulgence is getting her hair washed and blow-dried at a salon so that her curtain bangs remai...

Silence

Silence is serene. Silence is solace. In several ways, silence saves the savage soul. Silence is static, strong, like sky-kissing mountains circling a sleepy hill town. Silence is somber when it stems from sadness. Silence strives to sleep over sickening strategies. Silence confers the childlike sleep upon the soulful, while it steals the peace of the soulless. Silence smiles and silences all conjectures. For a few, silence is a sweet remedy; for others, silence is a malady. For some, silence is a question impossible to crack. For others, silence is the answer to every crux. For some, silence is a shield. For others, the sharpest knife, the searing scythe. Most times, aparently silence saves bonds. At times, it breaks them into forms unrecognizable. Silence wears the face of a silent sage, yet stands indisputed as  a symbol of untamed rage. Life screams. Death silences. silence is a voice in itself, raising walls too high for unwanted noise to climb. Silence is a misunderstood path...