Every morning-evening <br />Till date from my first day, <br />I'm adding words to complete <br />An invitation, to The Death agent. <br />I don't know how many more- <br />Words I need to accomplish! <br />How long I should and can? <br />But, cock sure, I should- send it. <br /> <br />Perhaps, the agent, is waiting- <br />Has reached my door step; <br />Or standing by side near my bed. <br />I haven’t have aim so small, that <br />One accuses me of crime. <br />I lived. I’m living. I shall or not <br />But, the purpose is to live and remain alive. <br />In object would it; <br />I would see and touch. Even hug. <br />Of course, impractical. <br />It is in Verbs, <br />I too. That’s common. <br />It can mail me any time; <br />I see, the road ahead is in length. <br /> <br />The purpose has in box up <br />Unseen pleasure, merrymakings and, <br />Bliss of new comers- <br />And sanguine hope of my tiny great nation. <br />I am sent in a flat balloon form, <br />With a purpose- <br />To be filled and fly high above my horizon. <br />Yes, verbs I am using <br />With all possible verbs I am. <br /> <br />I see rocks growing <br />With vested wish lodged <br />In front of my tracks. <br />I see rivulets of yester days <br />Become rivers, <br />Longing ferries- verb made. <br />Yah; <br />Rocks I need to cross, <br />Ferries I need to provide, <br />Aptly, using all my verbs <br />Before the Invitation is accepted <br />And remain alive.<br /><br />RUP POKHAREL<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/the-purpose-5/
