The Essence of an Existence

A baby is born…
One more addition,
To the multitude of mankind….
The stage of the cradle,
He is but a bundle of emotions,
Devoid of the slyness of man,
Innocence is thy name,
God embodied,
In a tiny human form,
A source of bliss and joy,
To all kith and kin….

A beautiful form grows,
And along with it,
A bit of cunning and greed…..
He is now a child,
A seeker of love and attention,
From all and sundry,
He is an important person,
For, is it not Wordsworth who said,
‘The child is the father of man’?

They call him an adolescent,
Turbulence is thy nature,
The intellect takes the backseat,
And emotions rule….
Caught between maturity and immaturity,
Firmly in the throes,
Of an overwhelming identity crisis,
An overweening self,
Which seeks the singular attention,
Of the opposite sex,
Come hell or high water,
But unable to fathom,
The difference between,
‘True’ Love and Infatuation……

His Youth is now in full bloom,
His beauty rivals the full moon…..
His powerful eyes,
Contain a glint of idealism,
And a bit of anger,
Against the imperfections of Society,
And against the,
Enormous falsities,
Of the human race….

He is an ‘Adult’,
A man in his own right,
A purposeful life,
And a singular identity,
Finally seem to be,
Within his grasp…..
An erstwhile radical,
But now a so-called ‘Realist’,
Did the Optimism of the Will,
Yield at last,
To the Pessimism of the Intellect?

He is a middle-aged man,
The fresh hints of grey,
And the first lines on his face,
Indicate that,
The mundane turmoils of a middle-class life,
Have finally taken their toll….

A doddering old skeleton,
Woe bemoans,
The grave beckons….
Fighting for dignity,
On the fringes of existence,
Walking on the thin line,
Between the living and the dead,
Sorrowing, Sighing, Gasping, Dying,
Sealed in the stone cold tomb......
Yet another soul,
Has breathed its last,
Yet another journey,
Has reached its end…..