Why
‘re thee like Sisyphus
Rolling
a rock to the top
Of
a hill non-stop?
Would
it not be alluring
To
see the low-hanging fruits?
Water
recedes at thy thirst
And
fruits climb up, when hungry
Why
are thee in a lake?
The
world, where the wickeds rot,
Gather
thy spirit
And
ask the Gods for reason
What
mistake is thine
To
steal the manna for the world?
There
were feasts while thy meet,
There
were secrets at thy greet,
Let
them not punish thee in thy court
For
the undaunted spirit
To
help and be helped,
Where
a real joy stays in.
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