O destiny, why thou create flowers?
Why with thy destitutory powers
Thou hide thy sibilant voice?
Why the ultimate lot feigns as a choice?
O fate, why thy appointed lot
Comes with a lacy and gauzy coat?
Swinish hiss posing as a sing-song,
To undo and annihilate even hopes of long.
Why some people suffer so much?
Why, fatality tries to quench
Its thirst from the same well?
Why for some there is always a hell?
Perhaps, the invincible necessity
Has only thorns for some in its kitty,
Its purplish look of prey
Mind not the foundling’s bray.
Aah, the fixed ruin
For the whitish fresh jasmine!
And the joy-hog with its filmy eyes,
Lapping heart amidst someone’s cries.
Wild hilarity and wild rhythm
By fatality’s doom to its fathom,
Why then a flower is born
If the spring is only but desert-lorn?
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