On The Way Back Home

Some desire,
Driven by urge.

Borns at the earliest morning.
It is the right time
To sow the hope seedlings,
And recite the hopeful rhyme.

After struggling a lot,
Putting my entire effort,
I try to become 'successful'.
But Joining in the race to be a 'material fool'.

The race gave me a bunch of gifts—
Like hopelessness and guillotine sharp cliffs.
The race left a thirsty tired mind,
Obliged to run forward leaving the soul behind.

"Didn't the race give you success?"
Asks the people to me.
I reply trying to remove that thorn hats,
'It gives a life imprisonment in the jail of money.'

But they don't agree and starts their run.
Just like earlier me who thought it would be a fun.

Now I am on the sea shore,
Trying to go my heart's core.
To discover "who really am I?"
Saying that 'race'  "good bye!'

Now I need a cool tree shadow,
For my heat sick soul.
Now opening all my heart's window,
Is my last goal.