Basket of Joy

Too much sun we cry We cry for rain in return Heavy cloud and rain we cry We cry for sun again Harmattan with cold breeze We think of sun At birth pillars laugh At death mourners lament By growth we laugh at A stand still we complain Even as too much growth gives Many burden Disease is a regret and by peace And love we exist like politics and wealth At war and natural clash we hook doom With ceremony we celebrate At fatal accident we burn with Passions of pity Sickness is a change and repentance Is cheap at sick bed What then is life all about A basket of joy and later A basket of pins of pains Purpose is not action But action is from purpose