Life's Masters

If Life has a meaning,

Pray, enlighten me of it!

Pray, do awaken me to its sense

So that I may fall in love with it!

Why, living on conditions,

While cowering from the fear of danger,

Hoping to be able to accomplish all that I desire

Before the mighty Death catches my soul,

Is not exactly what I would describe as being fairness!

If we are not punished beings,

Suffering of the consequences of our actions,

If we are not cursed souls,

Treading in a world which is somewhat milder than Hell,

Then, what are we?

What are we, if not,

Laden with desperation,

Which we hide behind glamorous smiles

And fake assets!

Pray, living on Earth is not meant for me,

The creepers seeded in my heart,

By the gardeners of the mystical

Have grown,

And have reached the skies' limits!

Yet, the masters of those gardeners have axed them down

Wanting to see me solely catering to my dues

In relation to the fallen creature that I am,

My dues, accentuated by the course of my fate,

My fate, as whispered to me by those same masters!

Pray, Life and its lack of meaning has me swirling in it

As if it were a vicious cycle

And I, a mere agent of this cycle,

Crucial for its continuation!

If Life were to have a meaning,

Then, the skies' wish would have materialised itself,

But Life is our own chastiser,

Shall we care to be forgiven,

We shall have to accept the load of sufferings it imposes upon us

Even if these include

Living as an image, an image

Hiding behind its smile,

A fractured soul, infected with porous torments!