O To Live Life Of A Rich Man In Rags Poem by Aniruddha Pathak

Wow, living life of a rich man in rags,
Fearless like falcon let whatso happen—
Not of an aging hapless wretched man,
Nor of hen apprehensive hatching eggs,
Nor wakeful traveller worried of bags,
Of a contented man in joyous den!

Not when means are s-t-r-e-t-c-h-e-d to meet ends,
But where life's luxury is leisure,
Of golden sun shines, moonlit silver sands,
A life of refined, not raw pleasure,
Where joy lies not in leisure's length,
Nor width, but height defines its strength.

To be worthy more than respectable,
Seeking elegance, not raw affluence,
Good opinions, not influence,
Knowing that wealth gives a vain label,
It makes one stable, seldom able,
Oh to feel rich with a mere pebble.

The world we live in still rich enough is,
Butterflies dance, birds sing in symphony,
Skies dazzle for free, priceless comes cool breeze,
Where a child's smile's sweet like honey,
Buds blossom at will, spread fine fragrance,
Where Moon's silver lets sorrows no chance.

To search long years such happiness to meet,
And find it smiling right under the feet.
___________________________________________________
Musings | 02.09.06 |