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Personal Note:

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Poem

Life,
As it is,
So vaguely defined,
Some refer of it as mine, yours, 
his or her,
Though none know how it tears, 
repairs, and solidifies,
So many relations are 
formed,Yet so less are retained,
So much can be obtained from 
it,
Yet so much lost,
In a hollow sense,
What so gladly you had claimed 
yours, 
Could next day be someone 
elses,
And yet even in this mysterious 
self,
Life seems to move on,
As it mends its ways of love,
And cares in its own virtue,
And just as slowly as these 
ripples of water tend to 
unfold,We never think more than 
we are told,
As the stars have written each 
and every soul,
We are none but destined to 
grow,
Yet none know how life came to 
be,
All know how it comes to an 
end,
And to claim and to desire is 
only a matter of time,
And To hold and feel is only a 
matter of space,
Yet none of it ever lasts,For 
what could one day be as 
elegant as a peacock ,
Could just be a carcass the 
next...
And just as these deep secrets 
of nature remain forever 
concealed,
The mystery of life must always 
also,
Be remain forever confined,
Even so in the absence of you 
and I...

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