Writers, Thinkers, Losers

Is it such a bad thing to be naive?

How is it that we can be writers, thinkers, artists of great calibre,

Articulate, eloquent, expressive, and yet, remain empty from the inside?

What does it take to be successful, passion, drive, insensitivity?

And if so, haven’t we already failed as human beings?

We lift a few pages from someone’s life,

See it through the lens of our own limitations and label it,

If we have neither been brave, naive, nor recognize these traits as priceless,

Does it mean that no one has or can or will be?

Could it be that those pangs are not without reason?

That your heart knows what the intellect doesn't?

Can someone’s life be boxed or dismissed or written off?

If the answer is yes, then whatever riches, success we may kiss in the world,

Life will never embrace us; it’ll hold us accountable for all that we shirked,

If we didn't give it our best, then more than others we fail ourselves.

The Song of the Sufi Masroof