For all possibilities in life,
What have we choose to become.
Following different standards of time,
We have moved to be undone.
We ponder over others and their lingering memories,
To glorify the beauty of despair.
We understand neither ,
Just to remain in an ambivalent lair.
These ideas of mundane and vapid,
That hold a race in our memories.
Oh! where should we begin with trivialities ,
To try words that make it interesting
For the stories of our wanderings.
Between these shadows of incomprehensible doubt,
We fail to translate our choices into oblivion.
When all is done,
we sigh , to wonder ,
If it is the brain that’s hurting,
Or is it the world around “we”?