What's the significance of life?
Now this broken moment
Creates a strange fusion of day and night,
A complaint stands close by
Desperate to express itself
But finds no page of history empty.
Where should I find the persona,
The identity,
The moment's sun-n-shade,
That once came into my doorway
With the smile of childhood?
Why has this procession of remembrance started?
Why this broken fractured story calls me closer?
Why can't I retrace the steps of the path I once walked?
Why can't I grasp a connection in the tale?
Why can't I thread the past into a unified whole?
Is human life just a dream, from which we never really awake, as some great thinkers claim? Are we submerged by our feelings, by our loves and hates, by our ideas of good, bad, beautiful, awful? Are we incapable of knowing beyond those ideas and feelings?
