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Poem

There are times, as often as not during autumns,
When leaves leave behind green souls, and fall
Wearing different colors, I remember my barber
And ask myself what more things, other than my grays,
Should I leave behind.
Boy, it's complicated, when I observe me looking
For reasons of my being here, in the first place.
I've no answers.

Stark revelation is,
I know nothing about anything.
Why color of snow had to be white?
How a child learns how to swear?
How come blood has whiteness in its redness?
Why is it so difficult to read a woman's mind,
Though her eyes are so gentle?
I come to realize,
I'm the last fool alive, 
Walking among people who know everything,
Apparently.
I've no answers.

Yesterday,
A young man, wearing a hat of sadness,
Asked me;
Sir, can you tell me, why are we here?
He mistook me as a wiseman, I thought.
I became sad for him, for I saw no star
Leading to a manger.
I looked up at the sky, with no expectations.
But, not to disappoint him, I replied;
If I knew I'll be asked a question like this,
Would I be here talking to you?
Will your shadow be happy when it comes to know
You're no taller than what you are,
Even as it elongates and shrinks
Frequently in a day?
That's the way things are.
I've no answers.

Today,
I try to remember
What I've gained and lost,
Among other things like nails, skin, vision,
My Rolex and heart.
I've no answers.

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