Why Do I Still Complain?

Why should I complain deafening loud that I live poor?

While I own the independent earth, stars and the sky here

Fields of flowers with breeze and fragrances that pour

Yields to miles and miles gloriously around everyone there

Singing and calls alluring, of nightingales heard near

Sparkling silver water flow all around is a fresh doer

Burning like gold above, lights the days with no fear
Light builds and destroys embellishing pearls pure

Head to toe, top to bottom, portrays colours that lure
Dead to living receives a cheerful embrace for sure

Why should I be gloomy for the notion of being poor?

While the whole world smiles around when I am here

As there no reason is found to be lost and sad there

For are we depressed for the past glory that did pare
shall we reason to judge not ill ideas escort us where

For being not erudite enough to see the beauty clear

As afraid of befalling misfortunes believed around here

For are all my generations blessed enough with prayer

Shall I not consider how am I prevented by gloom dear?

Do I still say time became old and promisingly swear?

Though time uniquely proven unlike papers I can tear
Greedy and eager look still appearing the faces here

So beautiful pictures and blessings worth dying mere

Yet never slightly happy and always extremely poor