All fools run after wealth forget this,
You receive written, efforts are in vain,
As among a hundred one receives a kiss,
And left over curses the luck getting pain
Nature puts potential in the guise of writ,
Into mind and the foolish calls it fate,
They are the receivers deceive the wit,
It is the fate writes their doings’ date.
Energy makes trends run in our blood,
You can’t increase nor decrease at will,
As gold ingredients are born in mud,
Who’s seen on earth gold process still?
You find the bread written in your writ,
You can’t increase it on the ground of wit.