Ambrosia

I search for ambrosia,

not for me, for my soul;

But, my poor soul...

It longs to live-

to smile to the rising sun,

and jump with fun,

eat till stomach is heavy,

and sleep like a baby.

Little does it know, 

I aim for a better life:

For me, for her; 

for now, for future.

Sorta room-of-requirements, 

stacked up with all the essential ingredients.

But my poor soul, satisfied with a little,

calls me fool, and marks me as brittle.

How should I explain, what should I say?

A basic life, for an extraordinary person...nay, nay, nay.

She refuses to share a nod of agreement,

and calls my life a rat race to false fulfillment.

.

.

.

I would prove I was right,

and stand by my words with all my might.

Hell, damn life didn't give me a chance,

Destiny brought me in for a death-dance.

As close as my gadgets were, my dreams were still in my eyes,

The materials that I gathered, lie lifeless under the sky.

And, my soul, still reminds me of my ambrosia,

sneering at the idea of the perfect life I had.

A full stomach, and a creative mind,

A healthy body, and to be kind,

A hand to hold, a heart full of smiles,

the meaning of life, now I realize.

Oops, I am dead! Too late to regret.