==Questionaire==

the heavens are empty;
or if they are not,
the entity that inhabits them,
is thoroughly uninterested
in what's going on
in the world below.
How else to explain the fact
that a person could bear
such deterioration?
A life full of dignity
could be brought so low?
What hypocrites, those people
who talk about our
Heavenly Father!!
What father would ever
want such a fate
for his children?
"Let me die!" he screams
into the winds, raising his voice
so that his words be carried
high and far.
"Carry me off. Destroy me.
Pulverize me.
If You exist, Let me die!
Kill me, Purify me,
Ravish me.
Carry me far away,
away from here.
Rip me out of my life."
In his heart,
he ceaselessly repeats these words.
What is the significance
of all human life?
Why do people always repeat
the same gestures?
Out of habit?
Out of boredom?
Out of an inability
to imagine anything different?
Or
To question themselves?
Perhaps out of fear,
because its easier
to follow a trail
That's already marked.
What life has meaning?
And,
What's the meaning of life?
Inspite of cringing day and night,
no-one wants to leave from here.
It seems paradoxical:
I don't ask to come here.
But once i am here,
I don't want to leave.
Am i the one who chooses?
Or am I chosen?
Is there an above and a below?
Or just an absolute
Pneumatic World?
Alone I wander
through the chambers and spirals,
and sometimes i seem to be
lost in a labyrinth.
Maybe by searching more,
I'd be able to find
a new way of
anchoring myself.
This wind seems to have a voice too;
It carries our sighs.
Sound of our steps.
The things that
we never say when we should.
Everything gets closed up inside,
as though in a time bomb.
The only wisdom
is to be aware that
there's something uncontrolled
and at any moment,
it could explode.
Why does the desire
to explore the past
comes only when
life changes for some
terrible reason?
When he sits down
in the attics of his past,
all he finds repressed are,
unspoken words,
deeds never done,
and people never met;
a tiny impact is all
that's needed to liberate
the ghosts.
He seems like a person
suffering from vertigo
and forced to walk
along the edge of a cliff;
The precipice was a choice:
Life -or- Death.
Can't a human change the path
he's on, again and again?
And isn't it this
bottomless chasm ofpotential
that dismays us,
that suggests the impotence
of our vision?