Warning

Every morning is a warning, 

That reminds we were near to death.

But it passes like a forbidden mourning.

Every letter that we read is a warning,

Which reads a hundred unread eulogies.

But it ends like a haiku. 

Every rumour is a trigger warning,

Which says hundred decrees, unjudged.

But the mountain petters out to be a mole hill.

Every success is a stringent warning,

Which asks to stay in earth and fly unapologetically. 

But it ends like any other chapter of a novel.

Every opinion is a straight warning,

Which demands to stick, unmoved.

But it ends like a dew drop in rain. 

Every life is a flash warning 

Which goes like a wave, with crest and trough.

But it should end like a Sunflower imbibing Sun.