Talking To Myself

Youth Years spent in giggling Seeing not any meaning Not even in studying Nor in dutiful praying Nor in fervent believing O youth, you are spent Bent and in torment Lost in your own world One in which you behold Your own self, that of a star The Elder Wise are now your eyes Suffered with agony and cries Realization did dawn Life is mourn Meant to be catered with caution Never to be taken as an easy accommodation In order to get You need to fret And give, Even if you have to grieve! The Dead Left is your physical being Your name is recalled by every being Your footsteps you have left Your life resounded with faith Blessed or cursed None thinks of your as accursed Acclaimed in your absence Now they envy your essence One different in its kind With glorious beauty and witty mind!