Peacefully the world lumbers
Dreams en-castled in its toils,
Like a fortress under siege,
Quivering, galloping, surviving
The harsh torments of weather and grain.
Which knight is to know the dreams nestling
In hearts that confound themselves whenever a leap
Is made for the aspirations that they shelter.
Are they not quenched, drop by drop, by those reprimands?
No, they are not, and no knight, soldier or warrior is to know.
For the perspiring hands brave themselves through all else
Their fingers burnt under the light of their own ambitions,
Their hearts bled till completely parched.
Their faces blackened by the soot that has no bearing
On their aspirations.
Are we not like these brave-hearts under siege?
How many times have we marveled at prominent personalities?
Our attempts to emulate them embroiled with their own
Share of triumphs, bittersweet like chocolate,
Follies, tangy like the best oranges.
Disappointments, sour like the most acerbic line of a teacher,
But also enlightening on reflection, like that very line!
And as our expectations plummet, giddy-ing to the ground,
They teach us lessons worthy of pasting in a scrap-book,
Like a collector filing away finds of coins and stamps
Along with odds and ends.
Tears fall, the 'good old persp.' is much resented for its odor,
And we continue, the old dreams tugging,
Dreams of fame, of wealth, of respect, of popularity,
Foil our best efforts, drown them like monstrous ships
On an ocean of small drops, composed of those real efforts.
And warrant our gloom, misery, despair, sorrow,
But if only we knew at once that those Utopian views
Were the mirages playing on the dispersed sands of seas.
How much will it take to love the sea,
For each droplet of water it is made up of?
Not much, it will only take, a little love,
To how many, and how much?
For a start, to ourselves, and as much as humility permits,
And our love for life musters.
That's gallons, mind you, so gather it now,
And love that ambitious soul with all it takes,
For the ambition is a trifling fraction, the achievement a small piece,
Of the towers that make up 'YOU'.
Rise above yourself, for New-York'an heights,
And Venetian styles.
But return to your home and your roots,
And elevate yourself above your ambitions,
When you anticipate a fall.
For the ambition is a trifling fraction, the achievement a small piece,
Of the towers that make up 'YOU'.
Dreams en-castled in its toils,
Like a fortress under siege,
Quivering, galloping, surviving
The harsh torments of weather and grain.
Which knight is to know the dreams nestling
In hearts that confound themselves whenever a leap
Is made for the aspirations that they shelter.
Are they not quenched, drop by drop, by those reprimands?
No, they are not, and no knight, soldier or warrior is to know.
For the perspiring hands brave themselves through all else
Their fingers burnt under the light of their own ambitions,
Their hearts bled till completely parched.
Their faces blackened by the soot that has no bearing
On their aspirations.
Are we not like these brave-hearts under siege?
How many times have we marveled at prominent personalities?
Our attempts to emulate them embroiled with their own
Share of triumphs, bittersweet like chocolate,
Follies, tangy like the best oranges.
Disappointments, sour like the most acerbic line of a teacher,
But also enlightening on reflection, like that very line!
And as our expectations plummet, giddy-ing to the ground,
They teach us lessons worthy of pasting in a scrap-book,
Like a collector filing away finds of coins and stamps
Along with odds and ends.
Tears fall, the 'good old persp.' is much resented for its odor,
And we continue, the old dreams tugging,
Dreams of fame, of wealth, of respect, of popularity,
Foil our best efforts, drown them like monstrous ships
On an ocean of small drops, composed of those real efforts.
And warrant our gloom, misery, despair, sorrow,
But if only we knew at once that those Utopian views
Were the mirages playing on the dispersed sands of seas.
How much will it take to love the sea,
For each droplet of water it is made up of?
Not much, it will only take, a little love,
To how many, and how much?
For a start, to ourselves, and as much as humility permits,
And our love for life musters.
That's gallons, mind you, so gather it now,
And love that ambitious soul with all it takes,
For the ambition is a trifling fraction, the achievement a small piece,
Of the towers that make up 'YOU'.
Rise above yourself, for New-York'an heights,
And Venetian styles.
But return to your home and your roots,
And elevate yourself above your ambitions,
When you anticipate a fall.
For the ambition is a trifling fraction, the achievement a small piece,
Of the towers that make up 'YOU'.
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