Happy-ness and contentment is something that one strives for
After the vicissitudes of pleasure.
One perchance doesn’t know what he’s is looking for;
Or Perchance one doesn’t understand that he is free.
There comes a time in the Year
To tally up the tentacles,
An occasion to take stock.
Ubiquitously, angels are singing psalms
Beyond the precincts of the chronometer.
Years are but moments, no more than seconds
Perpetuity each, again and again.
Our lives are on the veer of happiness and agony,
Reoccurring to the parapets of the wind. Happiness entails one to be conscious,
Fine tuning the heart's environment to bright.
Some choose the dark, as is their right,
On grounds of distress, and to relinquish
Not only happy-ness, but all that's consecrated by light.