A Story..

This is a story of a man with no glory,
Sitting on the bank he was all hoary,
Nowhere seemed to be his only destination,
His mind took him on a trip far too animation,
Born in a family with many stories,
He was the one who lacked his own fairies,
Everyday he would wake upto a mission,
Survive, live, prove was his only remission,
His presence was never acknowledged,
Still he drove in his shoes far from being hedged,
He would work day and night,
Thought there was a star beyond the night,
He would let the stomach rumble,
Forget that there is something called hunger,
Success never seemed any close,
Yet he never distanced from his Foes,
I will work till I die,
I will work till I cannot try,
And a day came in his time,
He died on a day in our time,
He lost himself over the notion of success,
See that man sitting on the bank,
He was a struggler once,
Said a moving stranger to me once,
Now he is a person we all remember,
From the time we can remember,
He has changed the definition of success,
Made us proud,
Made our city a memorial,
Why is he all alone then,
Sitting on the bank with nothing but an old den,
Oh, you see he is the man who left everything for success,
Broke down company with all his peeps,
And today he is sitting on the creek,
Thinking about the days that passed away,
I see a gloom in his eyes,
Success was his but he was all alone,
The man on the bank took a deep breath,
Stood up, put on his white sheath,
The man had won I told myself,
Had achieved Heights immeasurable,
But now he needed something more,
Alas, everything is not sold in the shops no more.

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