happiness and its hum,
sadness makes us numb.
times that were too terse,
i poured myself into a verse.
philosophy, life, polity,
math, art, inequality.
ponder about them all,
at times ideas do sprawl.
long reads await; i warn,
beautiful but full of thorn,
complex as a rose,
all of such written in prose.
not prose, verse neither,
somethings didn’t fit either,
yet its put forth to reader.
incomplete, yet to build,
some ingenuity being spilled.
ride along this riviera,
glance what’s in et cetera.
someone great once said,
“make babies or make art”,
this is end; it’s time to part,
even if i made you lament,
be sure to drop a comment.
in poetic ode – welcome here,
my heart holds you near,
maybe this journey was success,
who knows? just a big mess.
and if all purpose fails,
at least now i know,
bit of your soul,
little of you,
perhaps you should know,
something about me too.