Life is not a bed of roses

Just like milk so fresh, sweet and pure,

Churned inside out, for butter to procure,

Never complains about the turmoil it has to endure;

Just like the gold sleeping deep inside the earth,

Melted in a kiln for all its material worth,

Never protests about its agonizing rebirth;

Just like the sugarcane so tall and handsome,

Crushed out of its essence in a way so gruesome,

Never questions its destiny to be thrown away as scum;

Life is just a short story you are entrusted to enact,

Entwined with myriad scenes, but a finale intact,

The purpose of God being, the best out of you, to extract,

Play it conscientiously, no matter how arduous the act;

Since, you can't have a rainbow without a little rain;

And you can't experience happiness without a little pain…