A soul on lease…
She could seamlessly tell.
Some near, some oceans apart.
Who measure not their words,
and lament not their thoughts,
but speak to their brethren
like equal men.
Who are not quick to judge,
and complete words unsaid.
Who deliberate
and hold wisdom unheard
beyond their years,
here on Earth.
The mirth in their laughter,
Echoing now
and to linger long after.
The spark in their eyes,
A nonchalance in their voice.
Who sans a care in the world,
Rejoice abundant in it’s little joys.
Who scheme not,
Who have no time for games.
Who believe in the goodness of men,
Though life be to them
A relentless tutor.
One that could seldom embrace
The misfits, the old souls,
it’s stoic suitors.
Those souls tethered sublime
to the eons past.
To the glory and the grime
And many more ahead to last.
They who are misunderstood
by tribes
that can seldom fathom much
From the confines such
Of their little minds
and their present world.
Who stifle laughter
And measure speech.
Who judge and fear being judged.
Who live to please,
Hence seldom freely live.
Who bind men into cages
Of dogmas and dictums
Cast in iron over the ages.
To adhere and to be adhered,
Every word, in every echelon,
Spelt amongst it’s rusty pages.
For he who is not a prisoner
Of his own self,
Could not be one with them.
Anything unlike them, they liked not.
They hence spend a lifetime futile
Chiseling away of what already is.
To make of men what they please.
A slave to the world servile,
A slave to their own selves.
And that what is more tragic;
A soul on lease.
