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,
the pointlessness,
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.