Posted by: Prem Piyush | January 8, 2007

I can’t be richer more.


Walking on the road,
Alone, with myself.
I found lost somewhere,
In the big crowd,
My house lost,
In the concrete jungle.
My qualifications,
Still seemed disqualified.

Still I want get identified,
for my own, for my unique soul,
that lives in the elemental body.
And the identity comes,
When people identify me,
away from the crowd.
People calls me up,
among the mass.

And they know me,
only when I am useful to them.

I have only thing to give ,
Without spending a penny.
Just a well wish and care for them,
With my smile – reproduced,
Mostly my own, rest borrowed.
But it means to them – a lot.

I give them the smiles,
From my dry lips,
Sometimes making them wet
with my tongue.

And I have to give,
As they are poor,
Really poor, as most of us.
Many’s rich smiles ,
covered with dust,
on the face of ego.
Many just ignorant of,
Their richness gifted.
But they are hungry,
For a love,
They are thirsty,
For a love.
They need you,
Above the physical body.

I used to be poor.
Just like all, with me,
The poor fellow,
Shy and timid,
Now richer daily with friends,
With all the capitals spent,
Much more harvesting,
Day by day, all the assets,
With many of the smiles,
Returned back.
With all the friends,
Unwilling to leave.
And they care me,
And they love me,
From bottom of their heart,
They expect only a piece of love.
They shall be getting forever.

I can’t be richer more.
Now, I walk reposed on streets.

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