Happiness is Not a Right

 I was so happy and it seemed so real

And I took for granted how I did feel

Until came the circumstances changing

And the ebbs of life came in barging!

How soon I realise:  happiness is not a right

That one can claim or pillage

It is rather - to the many -

An unexpected state of privilege.

My expectations were too high,

And I was too happy for a blink;

Now I am broken down to the core,

As the new realities begin to sink.

That happiness was not mine,

To start with, to claim:

It was gifted and external;

Beyond the confines of my realm.

Where Am I Now?

 Is it a bad place to be

In the outer arm of the Galaxy,

Orbiting an average star -

Sitting on a little rock ,

Not too close, not too far -

Endowed with a brief marathon of life,

In a peculiar slice of spacetime,

That never was, that never will be,

But is now at its prime;

At the crossroads of my own

Past choices and future possibilities,

With the people I love and know,

And life’s messy realities?

No, I think it is good, even so great,

That a confluence of  circumstances

Led to my being in such a state;

So circumstantial from the start,

That I never cease to appreciate;

So improbable my existence,

That I marvel at such a fact!

The Epitome of Life?

 The universe prefers drifting

Towards chaos in perpetuity;

And life is but a hollow rebellion

Against such an opportunity.

It is a messy stew of perseverance,

With flavours of change and improbability.

It is the staving off of entropy,

In an always-changing shape;

Self-sustaining complexity,

In a conscious, orderly step.

Some say the epitome of life lies in love,

Others in the dance betwixt suffering and joy;

But is the impermanence of either what gives meaning,

Or could this be death’s narcissistic ploy?

Could the epitome of life be consciousness -

Our ability to reflect on existence - 

Or could it be its refusal to be confined,

And to be summed up and defined?

Be it consciousness, or drift, or love,

What good is it for me to know,

If the epitome I declare today

Is, per sure chance, outdated tomorrow?

I think the epitome of life is the love,

To consciously drift towards chaos;

Even when confronted with impermanence,

And the inevitability of loss.

Blink

The name, the  shame

The things we do for fame 

The hunger, the fear

The things we do for cheer

The grudge, the hate 

Jealousy and fate:

The lies we tell and 

The facts we distort:

What for, what worth

For a life so short?

For all these things 

And  of those one can think

They come and go,

All in a blink.