Introspection – revisited

why this, the illusion of time.
for the yearning to walk past it?
We long for a peephole,
to rip apart those curtains
Are you there? alive,
watching my steps,
smiling at every move I make,
hiding just for a game’s sake?


Who am I?
A sliver of God.
A tiny part of a bigger whole.
A body, a soul,
a speck of dust floating in the sky,
a piece of art or a roll of dice,
My Creator?
Is she there watching me rise
to sprout from soil, flourish and die,
longing to meet, she cries
dying, Is she? Too fragile to rise.
A mother weakened by labor,
observing me with joyful eyes.
My father?
Is he there behind the veil?
Angry over a test I’ve failed.
an abandoned bastard?
is this my fate?
I ask myself
What is death?
A journey back to mother’s womb.
what is life?
An attempt to impress my father.
Is there any meaning to it?
Or it’s as meaningless as the creator.


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