Why do smiles and rhetoric elegance
Turn prose into poetry?
And the glint of mischief
Mistaken for a sparkle of hope?
Why is the sadistic pleasure derived
From seeing his scar burn?
And the ones with innocent countenances
The first to bring the rampage?
Why is God never remembered
Until Pandora’sBox is opened?
And why must He be never seen
To retain the mystic hold of the unknown?
Why is the underdog made the hero
And the real hero martyred
Sacrificed at the altar
Of the God of mediocrity?
Why is the unintended able to wreck lives,
When love, hate and the fine line in between
Is blurred by the clarity of vengeance?
And the blame game never ends.
Why to every good intention
There is always a dark side?
Like black to white, dreams to nightmares
Why the scales forever sway?
Why does it grow on our existence
And transform us into beasts?
Why is every sigh and cursing
A tribute to the glorious past?
Gone are the days of childhood idleness
But the pressing thoughts remain
With the rain, the April blossoms
The falling snow and the soothing summer breeze.