Was life an arduous journey to a pre-known outcome,
Or was it a never ending wait, for it to begin…
Was it: in forgetting our ultimate fate,
Or was it to realize the beauty withheld in the little beads strung by a weary thread…
Was it a cycle, of birth and death, of love and hate, of an induced contrast essential for everyday living,
Or was it to realize the tranquility in omnipresent transience itself…
Was it to fill pages of diary in secrecy, yet wanting to be heard and understood,
Or was it to fake the world from your inner being: hiding an identity you fear to lose…
Was it in, lost moments of past you yearn for, or prediction of future: an arrow of time that you could never comprehend,
Or was it a forced fallacy to maintain a perfect harmony…
Was it constant search for unanswered questions,
Or was it inherent to question and seek…
Was it just to satisfy the overtly flamboyant senses,
Or was it complex: that which satisfied every emotions absence…
Was it a synchronized time machine that would move back and forth only to die a certain day,
Or was it mystically enveloped in magic that guided its work…
Was life a foretold tale,
Or was it waiting to be unwrapped by our own hands that mould….
Or was it a never ending wait, for it to begin…
Was it: in forgetting our ultimate fate,
Or was it to realize the beauty withheld in the little beads strung by a weary thread…
Was it a cycle, of birth and death, of love and hate, of an induced contrast essential for everyday living,
Or was it to realize the tranquility in omnipresent transience itself…
Was it to fill pages of diary in secrecy, yet wanting to be heard and understood,
Or was it to fake the world from your inner being: hiding an identity you fear to lose…
Was it in, lost moments of past you yearn for, or prediction of future: an arrow of time that you could never comprehend,
Or was it a forced fallacy to maintain a perfect harmony…
Was it constant search for unanswered questions,
Or was it inherent to question and seek…
Was it just to satisfy the overtly flamboyant senses,
Or was it complex: that which satisfied every emotions absence…
Was it a synchronized time machine that would move back and forth only to die a certain day,
Or was it mystically enveloped in magic that guided its work…
Was life a foretold tale,
Or was it waiting to be unwrapped by our own hands that mould….
