This is how we keep oscillating, between the extremities of anger and joy. Reaching a stable state of tranquility is a matter of chance. We just pass through it, and again keep swinging like a pendulum bob, only to die out as our energies deplete with time.
The Lines
The mortal is like,
A swinging bob,
Of this existential pendulum,
Rising to a height,
Of extreme boisterity,
Like a tempest swirl inside,
And an enraged fiery outside,
Both uncontrollable and destructive.
Then,
It goes back,
To its equilibrium,
A place of tranquil bliss.
Only to rise again after moments,
To a position of intense glee,
Like a pristine summer lake,
Where grows in abundance,
The foliage but not for long,
As it loses its strength,
With no anchor to bank upon.
The stable point,
Is fleeting for him,
Which he lives truly,
For a duration long enough,
When life energy extinguishes,
Of moving between,
These extremities of emotions,
Finally,
Spiralling down with every swing,
To the point of final placidity,
Rarely reached when alive.
EXISTENCE: MORTAL: SWINGING
Tulip Brook 