(NOTE: This is a sequel to my previous poem: Questions For The Universe)
This is not a poem at all;
This is one very ordinary story, one very small;
Of how I found contentment life at least;
It’s easy folks, all you need to do is to change the TEXT.
If I used to crib about not having the love of a wife;
Now I am so grateful for not having to live a slave’s life;
Not having to share all the expensive and tasty meals I order online;
Not having a spy at home, to ask for permission for meeting other women.
If I used crib about people calling me skinny;
Now I am so grateful for not being called ‘fatty’;
Being able to eat whatever I want without worrying about calorie count;
And save money that would have gone to some opportunistic ‘weight loss expert.’
If I used to crib about being poor in means;
Now I am so grateful for being saved from income tax raids;
So grateful in not dealing with the stress of what to do with all the cash;
And grateful for not attracting golddiggers and parasites.
If I used to crib about being a bad writer;
Now I am grateful for being world’s only twenty-page-article-blogger;
Grateful for writing better than what several other ‘content writers’ litter;
Being able to write poems like these devoid of any technical glitter.
The only thing I still crib about is not having many friends;
The only other thing I still crib about is not having social skills;
But lately I have discovered that even if I am a bore at parties,
There are special joys reserved for being Mr. Artist Anonymous.
My friends, if you ever find yourself comparing to others;
Feeling low, despondent and overburdened with stress;
Remember that they too are doing the same thing with yet others;
Find out the joys of not having what you don’t have, and feel joyous.
– By Marlowe