Who Am I

Who am I? Who am I?
A question which I always try,
When I sit with me and I,
In the lonely hours of hush and cry.

Why am I searching this answer?
All I need is the peaceful lustre.
Then why do I torture
The mind’s gentle posture?

We toil far and wide,
For honour and pride,
And left our peace by side,
On all the places we ride.

It is all in you
To find the I in queue,
To unfold the true,
Hidden love in a few.

O mother, don’t cry
Over the father’s sigh.
It was his try
To seek something high.

He has acquired wealth
For the days of dipping health,
To live with his lovely wife
For the rest of his lively life.

Life had days of happy ride,
Filled with love and pride.
The search for wealth
Lost the quest for health.

Come, sit,
Listen to my life story a bit.
This is all about my life—
My son, daughter, and my wife.

You may wonder
Where I have left my father and mother to wander.
I remember my father and mother,
And the lovely years we spent together.

Oh, the world is materialistic;
Love, sacrifice, and worship—now mournful, mystic
Comfort and solace seem simplistic.
And Who am I? away from prophetic