memoire of a philosopher

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A young boy, rather a man,
Walked in the garden of Life,
With a few petals in hand,
Sold for a soul,oh these petals made of gold.

They say if you plant these petals,
It would really grow,
And become what one desires the most,
But one has to know when,
One has to know how,
If thee not plant them well,
They won't grow even a brow.

But tis poor boy did not want tis money,
Nor did he want tis gold,
All he ever wanted was for love to hold.

He never knew love,
He had never touched nor felt,
Tis mysterious drink that people often spoke of,
He didn't really knew it well.

He moved for it,
He searched for it,
Be he had never truly found it,
How can you find something,
If you don't know where it is?

He thought love was in the eyes at first,
But even the most blue eyed women,
Could not satisfy his hunger of love.

He then went for the body,
The beauty of a creature might do,
But again he didn't find love,
Even as he tried with more than a few.

He tried look elsewhere,
He thought,maybe in men,
For why not? He was always a bit queer,
For how can a man not fancy a woman,
Unless he is a woman himself?
So he searched a soul all over the galley,
But he didn't anyone but himself.

He could not find it in men,
Nor could he find it in women,
Now he's restless,no soul to see,
The petals in his hand were giving him sympathy.

He looked up to the sky,
Called for his God, found no reply,
But he didn't stop.

As he moved faster through the garden of Life,
Always searching,but finding no wife.

No love no gold,
No dove no hold.

He paced even faster,
Me think he was running,
Hoping to meet his master,
And before that with his cunning.

But even as he sped up more than ever,
He got nothing to show,
No new face,no new show.

He paced the byway,
With no other plan in his mind,
Then he saw a lady,
Standing their looking divine,
Just standing,doing nothing else,
She seemed to be feeling the breeze,
She seemed to have a smile on her cheeks.

He found it more than strange,
For anyone to stop and exchange,
Stand in the middle of the garden,
And feel the morning haze.

Why would anyone stop there,
In the middle of nowhere?
Why would someone give up the race,
And just look around,
Bypassing the craze?

Why would anyone just rest for a while?
Why would they not compromise?
Why shall they just stand there?
And even more,why should they smile?

She looked a bit older than him,
Maybe one or two years or more.

He stopped and faced her,
This time he asked her.

"Why do thee stop?
Why do thee not run?
What does thee do,
If thee just stops?
Why does thee smile?
How does thee smile?"

She looks at him,
And only gives a reply,
"Look around sir,
And thou shall have
Thy answer,
If not just a smile."

First time he looked,
The first time he saw,
Amazed has he was,
He found his legs were sore,
He sat down on the grass,
And enjoyed,
As the wind gave came as a gentle blast,
He smiled as he saw,
All the flowers stuck there as a mass.

He looked at the woman towards his right,
Tis woman here seemed to be bright,
She gave him wisdom,
And even more, a feeling of pride.

"How so miss?
How can thee stands ashore?
How so miss?
How can thee smile,
When thee is alone?
Has thee found love,
Has thee found love in thy solitude?
Or is thee love herself,
Dressed as a maiden of dreams?
Art thee a ghost?
Stolen from thy body,
Away from the burden of death,
And more so from the burden of living?
How can thee just stop?
And how can thee stare for so long?"

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