A Mysterious Beginning
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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