I’m stuck between reality and dreams,
In between feeding body and feeding souls,
In between cooking away my fears
And writing love poetry (maybe!).
When life said “choose”, how do I choose?
Should I write through my fears, or should I cook them away?
Knowing…. (Well knowing something maybe. I don’t know!) Knowing it will solve questions?
A poet locked up in a room, talking to herself
Well that’s not me, that’s just how I thought I’d see myself (In six seven years ahead)
Let me come to reality as per fact,
Six seven years; I’d be in a kitchen being shouted at,
Wishing for a pen and paper before me
And obviously a cup of tea!
What actually is “Life”?
A choose wisely kind of thing,
Between climb a step or trek that forest?
Questions left unsolved!
Life is a thing
That revolves around question mark and exclamation mark. Wait ‘life’ is not a thing,
It is some kind of energy that would not help you answer
“What is life?”
Back to my life, filled with questions and questions
A never ending library of questions
And dreams and aspiration too!
What actually are my dreams?
Where do I see myself in ten years?
I thought I knew the answers
But seriously I’m just a plain paper.
I tried to fill it up but it is kind of like
“Press that backspace that’s not you!”
Hey, who am I?
How do I see life, through a microscope?
Or maybe; “How should I see life?
There are two unknown doors, that looks just the same
I enter through one door, take a step and that’s it!
The wise little me I thought.
Arrive somewhere in the middle of somewhere
“I should have chosen the other door!
It would have been different.”
Well wake up its two different doors,
It just looks the same.
Well one thing I know if I had chosen the other door
I’d arrive somewhere in the middle
And wished I had taken the other
That’s me! No, not just me, that’s the unsatisfied
ungrateful human so-called ‘being’
I wrote through it, thinking I’d find some answers,
But no not a single alphabet of a hint;
At least I got a poem,
Poem of conclusion to my unsolved questions.