The barren land
I have reaped from the land again,
Delusional, confused, on when I started sowing the seeds.
Now aged with a grey mane,
I see the land with nothing left, dying to bleed.
It was responsible for my wins,
It was responsible for my conquest.
In return, my gratitude was just sins,
The land is now fruitless, void of the greatness it once boasted, now just stressed.
It never occurred to me, everything is finite,
Greatness to ignorance is just in everyone’s sight.
Failure will become the norm to live by,
Pride washed away; end is nigh.
Despair, and doubtful, asking the almighty,
Is there still time, can I turn the tide timely,
Staring down, with thunderous blight,
Nothing can be reaped forever, until nourish,
Nothing can be grown without sowing, expecting it to flourish.
This body I gave you was the greatest resource,
This land which ploughed golden harvest was your source,
Still time there is, in the hourglass called existence,
Let go your vices, your prejudices, and disregard, stop the resistance.
The only way out now, is to break the slug, to aim for persistence.
Start again, with the innocence you began to learn,
Start again, like the tiny bud from the wise old fern.
Start again, with the childlike dream to achieve everything,
Start again, to grow from the roots, and then metamorphous into anything.
This time, when you will reap from the land again,
Make sure to remember, you do not sow the seeds once in rain,
But water it every day, work on it, cause this, only this is your old age cane.
