At the end of the story

The stormy rain has come and gone.
We are now only different souls,
Shorn of the unifying fear,
Gathered at the foot of the whistling  tree,
Peering into the early sunset.

Our stories have different names;
Our tears, different colors.
But, we have all felt the pleasure of sin and,
The sourness of purity.

We have all drawn the first tears
And everywhere, every crevice of our lives,
Bear litters of broken hearts.

Born to seek love and light,
We've been at war with our souls,
Searching for their faces
And always,
We are left with fate straws.

“You'll never find someone like me,
Your heart will be broken all the time,“ you said yesterday, when she walked away.

You gnashed your teeth,.
Praying for pain,
For her.

Then you sat down and
And your demons attack......
You remember Your own words,
During the summer .

“I have someone, I have someone else,”you said
to the other crying soul.

You laughed as she walked away
Her tears wetting the earth.

Now your soul speaks to you
Those words you never loved to hear,

“The journey is stormy,
And fair,
Like the waves of the old sea;
Unfair like the stories of war
And victory
And loss.
We feel the rattling
On the loose pieces
Of our fleshy boats and,
We get what we deserve”

You see it now?
A big round earth
And, we are all going full circle,
Scurrying around, like rats
In full glares of night light.

Round and round and round
We go.
The mirrors tell us.

........

So, weep not, child;
Feel normal.
Tell your stories;
Do not be shy.

Because,

“We are here, all losers
And then, winners.
Betrayed by life
Then, blessed.
Hurt people
Then, get hurt.
Love and then, be loved,”
The old sage said.

“By life,
By friends,
By the gods.”

It's a new year of rains and sun,
Of tears and laughter,
Of loses and victories,
Of hate and love.

It's a new year of glories.....

At the end of the story.