A restless yearning to make all brokenness whole,
An unquenchable thirst of finding the life’s soul;
An endless desire to explore this universe,
A child-like fancy with moon and stars to converse…

To gather pearls of poesy scattered around,
And compose them into songs with music profound;
Care for little flowers of all colors and forms,
To wreath them garlands for martyrs withstood all storms…

Though with, meager quill and ink, bring revolution,
And thus, in this world, accomplish my true mission;
To expose the wounds of broken humanity,
And heal them with medicos of fraternity…

To live, never grumbling, the life, given to me,
Like birds, bees, and flies, forever, happy and free;
To share this happiness with everyone I see,
Make this world harmonious love-filled symphony…

All these are so easily said than done, I know,
Are the seeds of these, yet, so difficult to sow?
Impossibilities bow before tireless strife,
Why can’t this striving be the motive of my life?

(“Strive constantly to serve the welfare of the world;
by devotion to selfless work one attains the supreme goal of life” (Bhagavad Gita 3:10))