I have no religion
Nor am I an atheist
Neither here nor there
Faith or no faith
They all end up in the same myth.
I look to no right or left
Nor to the back;
A macaronic of thoughts sepulchre,
Compelled,
I march forward
For lack of an alternative road
Though I know it ends
As bad as the rest.
I ought to pose,
Rax and repose,
And question and impose
That my existence
Has no a greater cause;
This is a myth
wrap with a gauze,
Myself to amuse.
I live and die purposeless.
No meaningful destiny to address.
Kaput!
I come and go
With a fate ironed out
Nolens volens,
My inputs Without!
I am a spec of dust
Picayune, incidental
No place to hold on fast.
I insist!
I am an esculent
The planet prepared to feast,
As I live and when deceased,
It’s eternal circle to assist;
I insist!
The brummagem
Man made skyscrapers,
Rockets, vade-mecum:
Science-fiction films,
Be a plebeian or a Croesus
All short-lived and finally sealed in boxes.
No one needs to stick to phantom hoaxes.
The thing that gets me troubled,
It could be like the rest, celestial bodies existing without you and me nurtured and gobbled,
Like lamb and vegetables.
Why then are we involved?
Pained alive and dead.
Especially when led
By bullock brickheads.
Yared Huluf