The Ballad Of Serendipity

In the abject corner of a street,

Amidst prudent hands and frantic feet,

A renowned restaurant lies

And in the lurks of its obsolete walls,

An intimidated heart cries.

Because there is no one to rely,

And there is no one to defy.

Oh! Is this how solitude can mortify?

In the elusive wilderness of his own,

He has learnt to cry.

And he’s learnt to groan.

To endorse his plight he is too meek

To display elation he is too weak!

Adorned with dust and embellished with reek,

His detestable demeanor is at its peak!

He does nothing, just lets his imagination soar,

And propels his soul to roar!

Day and night,

He discerns men,

Toil for fragments of paper,

With numbers inscribed; which are multiples of ten?

He’s unable to perceive,

Why people deceive,

Each other for a paltry dollars and centimes!

He has no cue,

If that really helps them,

In their adverse times?

But now even the notions can’t persist,

Because every cell in his body starts to insist.

That it can’t endure,

The inexorable lure.

Of hunger and voracity

Which has exacerbated its capacity!

He needs food to survive,

He needs food to revive!

He is impelled to be sudden and quick,

Or else he’ll soon get sick!

Alas! He searches for a panacea,

Like for water in a desert does

A yearning acacia!

He runs and begs, he runs and begs,

He runs and begs and darts,

But nobody cares to give him food.

Oh! Is the world devoid of hearts?

He gets no bread, he gets no crumbs,

He tries again, but soon succumbs!

The stomach is rumbling,

The teeth are fumbling.

The brain has gone on a halt,

And the intestine bellows: It’s entirely your fault!

His steps curtail,

He is coaxed to wail.

He lies on the sand and chastises his fate.

Darkness sets in,

And hunger dissipates.

The nefarious aurora embarks again,

This has always proffered him, perilous pain!

The life which prizes evil and squander y,

Has only given him trauma and quandary.

With feeble might he tries to rise,

And pursue the life of sobs and cries.

He has no mother to cuddle,

He has no friends to huddle!

He has himself and his gloom,

He seeks no pain, he seeks the doom!

He returns to his dwell,

With obliterated face and tangled hair

Well, does anybody care?

In wrinkled hands, he lays his face,

And flips reminiscence of old days,

When life was flawless, when life was kind,

When life was free, it was refined!

However, soon the cerebration did end,

Life gave him a chance to amend!

A man with a charismatic countenance,

With deeming eyes and effervescence.

Asked him in an inquisitive tone,

With deviance embodied and sown

Hey, what are you doing out here?

With wounds on face and tangled hair?

You look like a detestable child,

Gone through a journey both hostile and mild?

“Exonerate me sir, but I have no cognizance of who thy be

Your identity to me is as obscure

As a barren island faraway in the sea!”

Oh, you’re quite a poet, aren’t you?

Your immaculate thoughts are as clear,

As the morning,

When sunlight percolates the dew.

Why don’t you come with me?

Don’t worry; it’s not a Sebastian task,

If a question surges within, you may ask.

They had soon arrived,

And our protagonist was astounded,

By an enigmatic beauty he was surrounded.

There were paintings everywhere,

Some beckoned Gandhi, some Shakespeare.

Some bore landscapes spectacular,

And some had monuments vernacular

And some were wrought,

By kindled fires and battles fought

Not the minutiae details had been left,

Each picture was a testament.

Of caliber impeccably deft

“You see, painting is my profession

And undoubtedly, it’s my obsession."

“WHOA! They are so mesmerizing

Each one of them is truly enticing!”

“Hey, can we be friends?”

“I am a dexterous painter of pictures and you of words

Conspired together, we can carve unvisited worlds!”

The young lad briskly reverted,

The fire of hunger was not yet averted

Sir, can I have something to eat?

Well, I don’t ask for a feast.

I haven’t eaten since three days,

The weather and me,

Will soon be immersed in haze.

‘Certainly!” saying, the good man rushed on his toes,

And soon the world was bereft of woes.

As the indigent boy got food to eat,

He gulped down rice and he gulped down meat.

And then he was ecstatic again,

He sought no doom and he sought no pain!

Vesperdite came like in winter comes fog,

The day masqueraded into the night,

And they both slept like a log.

The cricket synchronized melody of the vicinity,

And the humans had swooned in sleep’s divinity.

However in a matter of time,

It was the end of chime.

The sun contravened the moon,

And his millions of soldiers who would wield,

A glittering and sparkling shield.

Towards the sun the soldiers ran,

Audacious, with clenched fists,

The moon in front, ran with them.

And there was no chance of trysts.

The sun didn’t move, he did not sway,

But still he drove them all away!

All the lustrous men were defeated,

And the moon had again forfeited.

The sun amassed his hegemony,

To his power it was just another testimony.

The pivot of the solar system,

Was adamant to show his rage,

He summoned the morning to occupy the stage!

Percolating through the atmosphere went the first ray,

And say what! It was the inception of the day!

Sleep was shattered and litharge eluded,

The morning hustle bustle came

And the place was no more secluded.

From there on life would resound,

It was jubilant and profound!

The furtive kid was no more; on the road,

He now had a new abode!

For ten years encapsulating and mundane,

To revere their passions they both were insane.

The boy with the painter, had worked miracles,

United, they had broken mankind’s shackles.

The journey incredible, was full of fortitude,

As a prolific poet; had become the destitute.

And for the painter, he was adored,

For paintings that mesmerized and floored.

The greater the benchmarks they would proclaim,

The value of friendship remained the same.

Eventually, the small abode had manifested,

Into a sumptuous bungalow,

In which happiness was perpetually arrested.

The bungalow had soon evolved into a university,

Which endorsed innovation and curiosity.

It was a prodigious building.

Adorned by plating and embellished by gilding,

And more importantly, with amalgamations,

Of indelible illustrations and poetry sensations.

After forty years, they both withdrew,

From their professions, as a freezing night does.

As sunlight percolates the dew.

But here, the ‘boy’” (now a veteran) did not cease,

For the instinct in him continued to tease,

Him; as a quintessential task had still remained,

Of apprising a many yet to be trained

So, in his university, he taught young faces,

Faces, who had walked on his traces.

The ones who had endured the perils - of poverty and adversity,

The ones who had sustained hunger and voracity.

The ones, who, like him,

Wanted to defy their predicament.

And exhibit to the world,

Adept talent as a testament.

And this is how the man of charisma,

And affability,

Transformed the life of a dejected boy and later many more;

Into a life full of splendor,

And serendipity.