The Privilege

I had a talk with life last night
It told me about itself, and of its might.
I found that it had achieved nothing with ease,
And behind the velvetiness lay many a crease.
I saw numerous craftily washed wounds and stains,
Of cruelty, misunderstanding and worry, they were remains.
But life is clever, it is wise.
It brazened them out in a trice.
It told me that it has had its share of mistakes and fight,
But I know it holds the ability to perceive them in a new light.
Those nameless faces secretly wanted to dissolve it,
But it recognized itself even in the silhouette.
It has seen those devils and demonism,
Yet never resorted to pessimism.
Silently, it sculptured new images
And the ignorant thought they were mere mirages.
But life didn’t crib; it was beyond all of them.
It continued to weave new chapters on experience’s hem.
I’m in love with this life and it is perfect,
With it I can never fret.
It makes me feel beautiful
And the mere thought of parting with it makes me tearful.
It is shared by many, they say.
But I know that it’s entirely mine, in its own way.
And if one day it wishes to leave,
I’ll let go of it without having to grieve.
But its departure will take away my breath, it’ll kill me.
Cause living without life – isn’t that an irony?