a poem by Rajaram Ramachandran, India - poetry writer, author, poet

Life doesn’t rest on bed of roses
But it goes on in between thorns,
Like a traveller going up and down
Before reaching his final destination.

Down the current it’s easy to swim,
But it’s not so up the stream,
So also, when going up the mountain
And not so while coming down.

First gold is melted in fire,
Beaten and pulled as a wire
Twisted and cut into pieces
Before making fine ornaments.

If one continuously eats,
One by one, a variety of sweets
At one stage, the tongue
Craves for a salty thing.

A man walking in the hot Sun
Will only come to know then
What’s the value of shade,
For which the trees are made.

In the best of God’s intentions,
In all His wonderful creations,
These “Ups” and “Downs” came
To constantly remember His name.

Blessed are the poor!
A Bouquet of Oriental Poems
A Prayer from a Suffering Soul

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