MY SORROW

                                            MY SORROW

My sorrow is pouring down from the sky

Wetting the earth making it fertile

New life sprouts , but will it grow and bear fruit?

I have my reservations.

Sorrow , my steady companion

It knows  no bounds

It pours and pours from the sky

Rotting life on the fertile land,

This name and form that is me 

Is of the fruit of my past karma

Reason being nothing but sorrow

And it pours and pours from the sky.

 

Even when it rots , some tries to thrive

But how long ? I wonder

For my sorrow know no bounds

It pours and pours from the sky.