Whatsis

-

If I can't make flowers bloom

move mountains

neither heal what's broken

then what can I do in this life

indeed, what this life is all about

am I yet to find out.


Far along the prairies

below beneath the esthetic

state of the art aquariums

among frothing bubbles

over the Nile's bed


What could this life

really be intended for

blossoms and wilts

or

birth and demise

what this life is all about

I am yet to find out.


We walk along

uncertain certainties

sure of nothing 

but

quietus today

tomorrow or someday

what this life truly all about

Am I yet to find out?


Where do we really belong

high in the skies

among the stars

or 

below under the earth

three feet in a wooden box

whatsoever this life is all about

I doubt if I'll ever find out.



november (the black poet)

*woes of sombre hearts*

©2023

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