A little bit seems longer.

The hour glass turns over.

A little shift; I grow no younger.

And I can’t always be sober.

Our days are still running but sometimes it seems over.

 

Our days; our lives.

Our race; our stripes.

We make the rules.

But we can’t always choose.

 

Our plans are like wishes.

I wish to be in his shoes.

So others will want to be in mine too.

Our plans are like wishes.

They don’t always come through.

 

I wished to laugh; fortunately, I did.

I wished to succeed; interestingly, I won the bid.

But our wishes are like plans.

They don’t always work through.

 

Just as the time changes with seasons.

Our laugh changes; with or without reason.

Our path changes with a humorous teasing.

And our life expects us to learn; lessons.

Sometimes, it is too much to bare the weight of its pain.

And we can’t always be sane.

Especially, when our toil turns in vain.

And when the smooth turns really rough.

When the truth turns extremely lost.

And our youth; put into corfs.

When our hearts are broken and made carelessly soft.

When the trade of our hands are lost.

And our fortunes turns to cost.

When our fathers are shot; by any flying bullet.

And our mothers, maltreated by any available societal mullet.

When our sons and brothers are sold to a gang of hooligan soldiers.

And our daughters and sisters; bought by societal mullets and sold to the gang of hooligan soldiers.

 

Even these are not enough.

For life sees tangible reasons to molest our young ones.

Tear apart their clothes and rip away their dignity.

It sees reasons to suppress our old bags.

And oppress our ‘free valves’.

It sees reasons to shed more blood.

Blood of our true sons.

Life sees reasons for us to change our path.

And it enjoys the punchline when what we chose ends us up in cuffs.

Is the problem with life or with the beings?

For it sees reasons to wipe away our smile and put in it place, a heart of pain and frown.

 

We believe in the divinity of the heavenly crown.

But a little bit seems longer.

A little shift; and we grow no younger.

A little lift; and we will be stronger.

Our days are numbered.

Our lives have suffered.

Our stripes, have numbers.

Our future; seems, a conquest.

But a little bit seems longer.

The hour glass turns over.

Yet, I urge to hold on; a little bit; much more, longer.

 

 

Asford Psalms.

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