Physics Poetry Platter and Politics

Yes I have lost a battle but the path was hard and rough; The hurdles you put were too high for me, but did I try hard enough. I have lived through the journey but why are my hands empty. What have you given me, except for the pleasure of a slow agony. I am a simple man, Quite often I shall fall short; but should I stop there, Is it the last resort? Dear life, are you an unending journey, with glorious twists and turns; Or do you stop sometimes, like an tired traveller with an empty urn. Do you have the time, the leisure to look back at your bleeding footprints, or do you go on with your melancholic sprint. I am merely a man, the chains of affection and the thorns of dejection, have left me bleeding; But if winter is here, can spring be far behind. The mighty tides of time will rise; The invisible winds of change will blow, To me will they be kind?

An Ordinary man passed by, unseen and unheard; Ordinary in the most ordinary sense of the word. Life said to him, the world must move on, move away, mankind must leap, it can't wait for you; We must find our answers come what may. Success even from the jaws of defeat, We must win; every war, every peak, every honour, every feat. The humble man could not but sway, and be a spectator. The great drama of life unfolded, from the maladies of loss to the melodies of victory; from the rivers of blood to the rainbow of peace. With glaring eyes and jaws that rattle, he had to gaze with wonder; At the great battles of existence, and the existence of battles. But as the mighty figure of life moved into the horizon, the ordinary man grew up to the zenith. He said, O! magnificent Life; Every ounce of empathy weighs more than a pound of sympathy, just as every shred of compassion is heavier than a heap of apathy; for time ebbs and it flows, it comes and it goes, but ever

Every shade of colour, every colour of shade; for each moment in life, there is one, just one that is made. O lights of colour, O colours of light; thy memories shall never fade. In you the world reflects, In you I reflect upon the world. With pebbles of time, I fill my bag; Some grey, some white,  some so green yet out of sight. Each moment is an epoch, just as each colour is a shade. Every man is what he fills his bag with, Every truth, every dream, every lie and every myth. But then what is life, if not a rhyme of colours, and a colour in every rhyme.