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!
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