defeat

My life is dead; dull, dim monotonous in its repetition.

Every minute and hour spent, to second without option.

From the time I wake up to the time I sleep,

Rigorous, onerous routine takes me on its grip.

I talk and walk, eat and greet, work and rarely play,

Sameness orders justice, to an object of clay.

I see me dead, sung and read in what I do repeat

Life, like this is meaningless, with so much of defeat.

I look outside without pride to find a falling deed,

Seed which made the leaf in time, to free it back as another seed!

Days and nights, weeks and years, seasons come and go,

Flowers and fruits grow the roots without ever feeling low!

I looked at me deep inside, and heavens what I found,

Organs singing do, re, me without making a tired sound!

A voice within said to me, you've just made a proud defeat,

Life's alive pounding still because of what you always repeat.