There could be any,
Art of living?

And why on earth,
Should I learn it?
For my life already,
Many struggles to deal with,
Why bother with any more?

Maybe after I shout them out,
I would seek the living.
But the problem lies,
They grow more and more,
The more near I get,
The far I reach by.
It’s a rut wheel,
Caged with chains,
Never stopping.

The I see,
Some in this hell,
For not seeking,
Beyond slavery,
Turned this very life,
Of living,
An art.

For theirs bliss,
Beyond my comprehension,
Their every moment,
Seems they know,
Of what’s beyond,
And no struggles.

That I desire,
Maybe they know the art,
For I was knowledgeable,
To miss the art,
And needed it,
Before those struggles,
Because I created them,
In ignorance,
Not knowing,
The Art Of Living.



P.S: Thank you and deep gratitude for reading my poems. It’s a newly discovered talent in me, maybe not rhyming and good enough, but I found poetry is the best medium to express our emotions. And that’s the reason I started writing them, it frees up my mind, relaxes me, and the creative expression is deeply fulfilling. I mostly write with my feelings and experience, and not to fill the word limit, so have to include these lines in every poem as they are shorter than one one-fifty words to publish. Accept my gratitude (although I don’t have much).


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