Morose Existence

Why does the heart

Want to wallow in grief

For no apparent reason

The mood is sombre in brief

 

Kneeling in obeisance on your grave

With a prayer on the lips

Renders a sense of being afloat

Lest my life is akin to a sunken ship

 

The worldly relations so shallow

Require precise balance to maintain

Ties of blood never seek equilibrium

Neither, one has to ever feign

 

Though homage to the ties so profound

Often as an afterthought all pay

They are all ears for emotional quandaries we share

Even in absentia or otherwise slain, to allay

 

Fear of the impending tribulations

Sends shivers down the spine

With none to resurrect my crumbling morale

Battling solitude is my bottom-line

What’s my calling?

What’s my calling?

To face dejections appalling

Few discover it late

Mine continues to evade

 

My pricking conscience

Without being pretentious

Questions the soul

Is it justified in expecting a dole?

 

None to haul over the coal

Whoever with a nonexistent goal

and lackadaisical attitude, the life path stroll

Success keeps a distance of a barge pole

 

Each one is blessed with some aptitude

Lame are excuses of Ineptitude

Rust gathered must be shorn

To put to use, skill ought to be honed

 

Let go of the mundane rigmarole

Creative pursuits shall put you on a roll

A little effort and jostling

Of the mind, unravels a genie named “calling”.