Does Happiness have to mean Stolen moments subsidized by lies and disguises? Or, stealthy flashes sustained by elementary conspiracies?
Does Happiness have to mean Forever testing the luck from disruption? Or, flinging the elemental four-lettered word Straight out of the window, the door, the room Where we nestle? Where we find happiness, which still displays fear?
Does it have to transitory? And if not, the price? Does it have to cost?
I am an adult the day I can decide between right and what others say of it. Happiness, till then, is there for us on hire Leasing this time against all odds, be happy that you have it yet.
Or is it for sale at too high a premium? That is my fear.
Does happiness, then, have to be only For the quintessential swindler, with peace?
Or for those who fear, Watchful forever of probing, questioning, accusing eyes?