Life with its borders is the
best.
If ceaseless, it’s an ugly
persuade
Like the hovering clouds that
do sometimes fade;
Care less if the sun sets in
east or west.
Though it measures and limits
its length,
A full stop is the beauty to a
sentence.
The faster it comes, the wider
is the sense.
But it shall come and not
called upon by strength.
When the divine decree
determines the ends,
The beautiful pain is only the
key to heavens;
For the good soul, the only
hurdle to the God.
If the divine script then
prolongs the sentence,
It’s a beautiful red rose
spreading fragrance
With all its thorns for the
sake of its Lord.
