There’s one thing that always stays
in me, looming like the summer haze
the probability of “what will be…”
“what may,” and mostly the “what if…”
What if what I find meaningful today,
loses its weight in my eyes, as I open
those one morning after a deep slumber
into the dubiousness of this strange life.
I am scared when I have to think of:
the departure from my own purpose,
from the meaning that it adds to my life
from the human being that it makes me.
Yet, despite the horror and the fear
I seek, I relish, in the meaningfulness
I breathe and feel its fervor in my lungs;
I reminisce ‘was’, I live ‘is’, I await ‘will’.