People at the verge of smiles.

*The grief within me sometimes enhances the colour and beauty of the world outside me. And so suddenly one day I noticed these people, who don’t seem to bother about the saddening darkness of the world. I looked around, they were everywhere! The Granny who lost half of her face to cancer but still had that perpetual smile on , The security guard who would laugh at the slightest tint of a joke and so on. This is an ode to them, all of them, who are always poised to fly into 'the realm of the merry tempest’, who, after much wanderings in the valley of reasons and logic, found their way up to the hill of faith and simple living.*
Heavy realities sure weigh some down.
But there are people who live at the verge of smiles and happiness.
Some occasionally walk the way
Some set their tents right at the edge
and some settle down,
in good rock homes built the old way.
They often are wrinkled from all the wanderings.
Searched for a good place in the valley,
never found one.
Until they decided to climb the hill
and see the darkness and the light,
facing each other and facing them.
They put one rock over the other
right at the verge of the happy side
And framed their memories safely
so they would not escape into the room air,
And cooked their soup
and so lived ever after;
So with one strong wind,
there they go!
Flying into the realm of the merry tempest.
Their trained minds, like parachutes,
Balancing the weight of their human grief.
~ zero.