and turned a stranger into a friend
I know not what I found in his eyes
maybe his glee has no end
As time went on, and I noticed him more
I felt like I knew him from before.
In a flock of sheep, he leads his own path
He fought valiant, when life showered wrath
He follows his passions with all his heart
And whatever he does, he perfects the art
‘cause never he follows, the ways of the herd
his story reminded me, of the flight of a bird
I know not much about him
but I know he leads his choice
unlike millions infront of him
he does not follow what his heart doesn’t voice.
I realize those happy eyes, carry a burden of untold stories
Some dark secrets, some painful truths, some dreams and some glories
But his life is beautiful, that is what I know
As I envy the twinkle, which his eyes never miss to show
Some call him a fool, to follow the path less traveled
some say his misfortunes, will soon be unraveled
but I see he found reason
in the desert of dead habit
in the ocean of lunacy
to sanity, he made it.
He doesn’t mingle much,
and speaks less, only to a few
still I see, something in his heart is due
his life did not end, after a feeble taste of success
he still pursues his goals, his dreams never rest
and after all, that is the purpose of life
towards perfection tirelessly arms must strive
He may be forloned, but he walks with his head held high
he may taste the ground sometimes, but his life touches the sky
Narrow walls fail, to break his world
and seeing him, your sorrows will also be curled.
His mind is free, his thought and action
he is awake, in a world of sleeping contraction.
The times have changed, but the fears are still the same
he fought through it all, and played life’s arduous game
He chose his OPtions and lived them well
and flew past hundreds, who to their knees fell.
His life did not come easy, but it was free
like the lone steady climb of a strong faithful tree
he grew alone, but gave shadow to those in need
to those who didn’t care, he paid no heed
His fruits were reaped, by everyone akin
it didn’t matter to him, whether it was mate or min
So I end this Ode, to the boy who lived
in a river, where only dead fish drift
may his life, be a lesson to those who want to live
and not just pass through, God’s golden gift
May his sacrifices, remind the ones to follow
that no struggle is small, when we battle against life’s hollow.
So this was the tale, of the boy I envy
‘cause when herd sleeps, he writes his own tale.
- Vishal Gupta
