The sun will shine, and the flowers will blossom,
These winds will blow as the mind still fathoms,
Man’s purpose in life is indeed but a mystery,
That has bewildered the mind since the birth of history.
It is easy, they say, to discover treasured goodness,
The beauty of love and nature’s own richness.
How much more difficult it is, I wonder,
To articulate the voice of gratitude, in the midst of one’s thunder.
These days are mere shadows, and years will soon disappear,
We remain silenced by dilemmas our souls and minds fear,
Must we not savour the wisdom from all that we go through?
Lest it should disappear, like the face of morning dew.
We lament our mistakes, and deplore our failures,
Yet should the fruit of improvement grow, without the desire to become greater?
We learn to stand tall and aim for better futures,
Only when our nature has endured, the tumult of failed ventures.
It is with goals unaccomplished that we may ignite our desires,
To endeavour our mission again, lest our inner yearning retires.
If all were reached and marked with success,
What would be left for the ambitious spirit to possess?
We detest the agony of not understanding,
That which remains to the mind, utterly unbefitting.
Yet is it not this realm of human limitation,
That gives birth to new and exciting explanations?
Grief clouds our sensitivities when times are trying,
When the rose of life’s benevolence is slowly but surely dying,
We overlook that within such bitter tragedies,
Is contained a test of our character’s true capacities.
And hence is revealed: one core truth,
That life goes on without end.
And one cannot be truly grateful,
Without also cherishing life’s rocky bends.
We create our own fate by virtue of our actions,
That is indeed true for all men,
Tragedies do happen, yet always we find
On these does our strength depend.
