So overwhelming in silence that it evades memory,
This secret factory and its clandestine mission,
Of life’s endeavors chequered with sorrow and glory,
Is breath and its answers to heart’s ardent percussion.
Some find greatness in form, and some in wealth,
Some in their bloodline, while some in the miles they rove
Some in their fleet and some about envious health,
But where is glory in these without life-breath’s approve?
Victory to a sword is not blood but to it, a solemn respect,
Greatness to man is mere flatter without breath in his reins,
For sword and unrestrained breath are fury’s ready suspects,
Ask history-that helpless spectator to many bloody rains.
Like love whose depth is defined at the hour of separation,
On Death-bed’s stage, we will finally embrace this companion,
“One more hour” we would pine for, to postpone final vacation,
Till the fairies up there call our names in sweet union.
4 comments:
Did you try too hard to compose this poem? Or was it a lot of interruptions?
What's the observation?
More than the breaths the lungs are important. you may take in deep breaths but if your lung don't contain the breath. This is technically speaking.
About the poem nice :)
@Rafiki: Very logical. Thanks. :)
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