untitled

untitled.
if i were to pen down my life that's the heading it would bear.

like an untitled paper
a publication that's waiting,
waiting for someone to name it
identify its purpose
to spell out its gist
in black and white.

so am i, incognito.
searching for my reason
contemplating the purpose of my existence
vindicating everything i do
but i dont have an author
a make
a manufacturer.

i am just me.
made of sand and dust
donned in a soul
a mind that soars
a heart that longs...boundlessly
for things it should and not.

for, what are we without a purpose
an aim
an ambition
a conrtibution
merely populating this land like the rest?
but arent we superior?
weren't we the chosen species
to reign
to rule
but on whom?
on each other?
with intellect that transcends itself
what are we trying to achieve?
i have no answers.

looking for my own truth
i found a dark hole.
endless
that we are all engulfed in
suffocating
it goes round and round
taking us all into its endless motion
and once you are in,
there is no turning back
for you have been victimised...
victimised by the circle called life.

it may seem bright
only until you open your eyes.

looking into the mirror
i saw not a face
but a reflection
of light and darkness
of uncertainty
of joy engulfed in sorrow
of a past full of memories
of a future, undecipherable.

if the past is a basis of the future
i am an unfathomable collection of memories,
untitled.