Nothing would ever make up,
For the time he dashed
through.
But regrets, he’s never
held any,
Life has corrected itself
always, anew.
And this small part of his
life,
Unexpected and even though
an abyss,
As Chris Gardner once felt
it,
Can be termed as Happiness.
Luck, fate, chance;
Finally stand defeated,
By a man Godless, harmless,
A beast unabashedly
unashamed.
But bliss is what he
pursues,
And the source remains
locked in;
A cup of tea might sort
it all,
Distances; peripheral or
within.
Winters may not be what
he likes,
But his love is always forever.
He gives himself three
days,
He knows, this story is
now or never.
Do open the gate to
your heart,
Even if this seems like
a déjàvu;
Because all that’s in
the way,
All that went through,
Could have never been him,
It was always you.
