Ten Plus Eleven Makes Three Poem by Gaurav Sharma

In deep'ning dark he sits and stares
at three-seat couch and four armchairs,
but read his face, there's no despairs -
more like the man has got no cares.

Perhaps this man has gone to sleep,
though every night he's here to keep
a meeting that is hard to reap,
as he sits silent, very deep.

He cocks his head, as if to hear
a Voice afar, not very clear.
On days his one eye sends a tear
or else his chest heaves with a cheer

as if to shout, 'Hip, hip, hooray -
I've lived to face another fray.'
In truth, the man sits here to pray
and thank his God for glorious day.

A day which ended without fight,
when he tried doing just and right,
that has no demons in the night -
his sleep will be at peace, tonight.

Tomorrow, when God's new day breaks
and as our man his first look takes,
he'll recall days of boozy shakes,
of fears and terror, lonely aches,

when he awoke, in burning need,
to find his god had paid no heed
to him at all, when he did plead
for Death to come, so he'd be freed.

But, as the then-god of our friend
refused his Black Angel to send,
the man his own life tried to end.
Now Love's brought him to comprehend

that sober living will have pain
but also a stupendous gain,
because the God of sun and rain
can feed the spirit, mend the brain

of him or her who wants the three
birthrights of Happy, Joyous, Free.
Come join us, whether he or she -
He'd welcome you, He's taken me!

Why I was called I cannot say
but, as I pen this verse today,
I'd rather sit in dark and pray
than feed the worms beneath the clay!