A day for a few,
Will never be new.
Those signs apart,
Enough for them.
With darkness around,
And that tiny sound.
That whispers in their ear,
Refusing to take their leave.
A voice called out,
They wanted to shout.
Was it them,
They guessed it was.
The guess was not wrong,
It was like a hideous song.
Wanting to escape,
They finally found something.
A reason to live,
Which they give.
To others they know,
But never follow.
Making others smile,
Storing it in them like in a file.
They call it cherish,
I call it soaking.
From a day or two,
Something is new.
The flowers had bloomed,
And they smiled.
The smile grew wider,
They felt lighter.
The weight of sorrow,
Has finally lifted.
Those who were distressed,
They say they are blessed.
A ray of hope,
Is what they give.
Can't believe they are the same,
Whom we used to call insane.
Maybe it was not them,
Maybe it was never them.
They proved this to us,
But never made a fuss.
That life is a hope,
And living is a gift.
~Arsh
YOU ARE READING
LIFE- A Gift?
PoetryLIVING- It's one thing we all do. Our lives are not the same but we still live. Some see things others can too but differently that's what makes life different. One poem per chapter. The cover does not belong to me.
