Poetry

LIFE [a poem]

In all simplicity, as little as it is, a four later word, a mystery, one no one has been able to unravel.

With all authenticity we embrace it, Oblivious of what to do yet, painstakingly striving for the best of her menu.

With no prior notice we were created, embedded in the world with no incentive, gallivanting the face of the Earth with no gratitude.

The bunch of questions seemingly the same: what is the point of this life? Of what purpose is creation? Asides endless hard works at different sections for the sole purpose of making impact, are there more reasons to life?

From questions they become puzzles, the mind Miandering, the brain fully tasked, yet no answer is gotten.

Then the breeze of truth blows, answers flowing from all direction, the unseen hand of the lord, bearing the gift of truth, his hand extended towards us, only if we can collect this free gift!