An egg holds the boon of life,
Or curse, I do not know;
The fog of uncertainty is masked,
By the assertions we hold.
Is it the blind Love that guides us,
Or leads us astray, I do not know;
In the rivers of delusion and ambiguity,
Aimlessly, we row.
The point is,
of moving Aimlessly,
towards an aim.
An aim shaped by ourselves,
From dubious hope to bold faith,
Unregarded truth shines Infront of our eyes,
But that’s the luxury of blindness.