life is not some kind of suave,
debonair blessed type,
i am to ask some question
from me,
what does a hot thing like,
in a man who walks around,
with his shirttail hanging out,
and his cereal bowl full of chilli,
there may be a hundred reasons to live with stilling perils,
even with cool cat killers,
and charmingly cynical vowing
to blow us in stone ages,
but hopes alway not with struggles, ,
under bitter curve of tongue,
pouring out some sweet liquid.
and sky changes colors,
not asking us,
our foot prints on sands of life,
telling our path,
while death runs faster than life,
and standing on victory stand,
before we reach the finish line.
chewing our warm flesh.
Rafique Farooqi
http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/life-to-live/
