Cycles of Life
Somewhere, a painting hangs in a gallery,
encompassing the artist’s passion.
His blood, sweat and tears stain the canvas,
something had inspired him,
and the painting is his reaction.
Somewhere, a precious jewel has been stolen,
the thief has never felt so alive or cautious.
He’s addicted to the exhilarating rush,
that comes from heightened reflexes,
from his nerves and being nauseous.
Somewhere, a woman spreads her legs,
after her lover has slipped her the money.
She has a baby in the other room,
another mouth she can’t afford to feed,
since the world took away her honey.
Somewhere, a young kid slips into obscurity
the world has left him neglected.
How can anyone blame him for being anti-social,
when all he has ever felt in his life,
is that he’s abandoned and disrespected.
Somewhere, a sensitive soul bleeds her heart through words,
the only release she has from becoming more jaded.
The cathartic coping mechanism,
to let go of all the hurt and pain,
to make it beautiful before it has faded.
Somewhere, two lovers unite horizontally.
There is no chastity, but still it is pure.
Their intimacy just an expression of love,
and she’s in love with him,
and he’s in love with her.
Somewhere, some woman is giving birth,
while her husband watches with tears in his eyes.
She squeezes his hand in pain,
and he’s totally overwhelmed
but melts when he hears his baby’s first cries.
Somewhere, an old man is losing his senses in his bed, he was young and strong, now he is frail and weak.
The journey he was on since birth is close to complete,
once he was a fool, but now he is wise
and there are no questions left and answers to seek.
Everywhere, people live and people die,
in this cycle of life that is ongoing with no end.
We have such a small fraction of time to live,
we are all born, and with certainty, we all will die.
So that’s the end of this poem, my friend.
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