At every
feeling inept,
At every
critical moment,
At every
sight passing,
Thou throb
and discriminate,
Thou dodge,
jink for a spree—
A moment for
a pale happiness,
A touch of
love so starved.
No matter
how stale or sweet,
Thou pursue
by wading and toiling,
A life what
it’s, a yonder dream so fresh,
Yet thy
pulse rate being strained…
With this backbone feeling,
The prime
bio-substance that lets live,
A story of
simple soul concludes—
An
impression vividly left on the speck of posterity.
With this
feeling begun perturbed,
The
nurturing process shapes thee,
How a simple
life yet ambivalently complex,
How thou
leave by casting those sad blinks
Like, as it’s,
how attached thou art,
How a vortex
of thy last struggle fails thee,
How this
feeling swells to such height
That takes
thee by surprise, a revelation.
So the only
beauty of thy mundane life
Lies in this
feeling that rules thee
At the
subtlest moment to a crude one
With its
manifestations as varied as thou.
So thou hold
on it that guides thee
At every
step,
At every
feeling inept,
At every
critical moment,
At every
sight passing.
