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MY GOAL
We have divided our lifetime into eight hours,
Eight for work, eight for leisure, eight for sleep;
And by doing so we have forgotten the favours
Of God; and have only made living 'Hell' deep.
An entrancing maiden with an ethereal glow,
Met me as I was walking in a meadow,
With her was her father with a look in his gaze,
In which shone youth and age, greenery and snow.
As I ventured further I met the mosque's preacher,
With a rosary in his hand and a drooping stature;
He and I were born in the same month and year,
Yet he looked older and time-worn was his feature.
We hugged each other and exchanged good tidings,
And trotting together we heard a lark singing:
"Wisdom is rare and aging is Mother Nature,
"So squander not youth in worrying about future".
My preacher friend and I stopped for some time,
And exchanged glances about the bird's rhyme,
He walked away saying it was just a croon,
Of a bird which had learned to chirping too soon.
Yet deep within I heard the voice of my heart,
Telling me to think deeply on the bird's art,
It could be an angel of God sent to 'tell' us,
How most of us have are unaware of the part:
How most of us have forgotten the purpose,
While making ourselves jokers of world's circus,
How several among us have become thankless,
Leaving ourselves to be haunted by devils inside us.
Lost in the deep thought I returned to the house,
Which was once a home with mother and spouse,
Both had betrayed me, each in her own way,
Converting my nest by destroying warm hay.
And as old Khayyam said: All that I have reaped,
Is the harvest of wisdom which is deeply steeped,
In every nook and corner of my body, heart and soul,
Worshiping Lord God and making Him my Goal.
