A Stroll of Realization

While this eve I went strolling

Down the path lakeside

There were things which

I had never pondered on before

The white swans were floating

On the icy-water surface,

And there were boats and rows.

An old man, coughing and shivering,

Rowing had a pair of oars,

And still he rowed that boat on and on

With placid and serene pace,

His wrinkled face said much

A withered man

With home to keep

And abundant children at home,

Maidens to be wed

And sons to be fed.

He had an ancient visage

Of a tested and mature man

In these winter months

When travellers are not many

These men of destiny

Are hurt and they suffer,

Their poverty and deaths

Become as accostumed as

Is this season's snow.

He has a wife at home

On the mountain top

Who awaits his arrival

Through the wild forest

At thick night wrought,

Cooking and feeding her malnourished kids,

That are teeming around her,

Expectant of getting something dear.

This lady, that had lived,

Like her chidren at her father's home,

Knows full well what is to be poor.

She toils whole day,

Cleaning and clearing dirty apparels,

And utensils dirty,

At her wealthy masters' homes

She earns a humble wage

To support her beloved ones.

Her copious strive has made her frail

Which has hastily untimely decayed her.

The boatman, her husband, shall now return home

And with his tiresome work done

He shall now profoundly sleep

To get up early the next morn

To return to his humdrum labour

Will his monotony continue

Till he dies one day?

What did he acheive and gain in his life

Was it not a cursed strife

To live in misery?

Will ever there be change

In the destinies of men of such age?

Will he be born again into this marvellous world

To suffer and to endure the pain

That he already did gain in vain!