A boat starts to sail ,
The tide, Mother of the ride
Makes an effort
And the boat is afloat
And tides being left behind,
The sailor must mourn,
The journey goes on...
Sometimes lonely,
sometimes in company.
Then one day he feels,
The sea is no sea, albeit the tides,
He looks back, and in all sides
Now he takes the charge , and steers his boat
To venture into the deadly storms
He suffers , cries, hates still persists,
Now the tides are gone,
The storms are gone,
And so the company of the known.
He starts seeing his fate,
Boat being his only mate,
He thinks of his mother , and being a tide
Would be better to steer some life,
And then he knows about the Brahman*,
And realised that , it would be a simple barter
For being a tide of the ocean,
merely an illusive departure

Once a working man, Now in ldleness, Got what he wanted,
From nothing he had, to everything he needed,
A peaceful life it was, But was peace that idle?,
He would start hating it, For what he dedicated his life for,
For what he fought with his life for,
All to end in this slumber 'I ain't going to live such idly 'said the old man .
Tried to get up his seat, Weakened were those hands and not the ambitions,
For what he was permitted to do, was not whatever he would think of,
Feeble legs won't budge, And shivering hands on the chair
Then he had a flashback of his life, And had a reel view of his life,
Now emotions would flood him, For those he wronged and hurted,
And also for those he loved...
Then he realised,
That his life was a chaos,
no matter whichever path he would have led, No matter whatever have been achieved,
It was certain to be in this slumber one day, And then a glowing pearl ran down his eye, And he prepared himself, For the last part of his life,
In Idleness...

Filling the void, artificial it is As empty as my thoughts,
A never ending endeavor to the bottom, Fearing for it to be bottomless,
But, maybe it is, maybe not.
The journey is dark through the bottom and a dark alley,
But one can light them up,
Colour them up, make the dark a decoration to it,
For ,the rest is after an unrest, for the Interest of dopamine was more in jeopardy, For if one remain vulnerable, he may make great painting.
So, the quest would still go on,
But the path would blossom ,and if we reach the bottom it would be already a caravan, and even if nothing initially, it would now beat a dusk.