• _zaki_ 9w


    A purposeless man,
    He knows not why he lives anymore.
    The decision to live, choiceless.
    Damned in Murphy's law,
    He writes the story of a struggle.

    Trapped in the prison planet,
    Nowhere to leave,
    His imagination itself detained.
    He writes down his experience.
    What is the absolute truth?

    He kept on wandering,
    Into the forbidden nights,
    To free himself,
    But the end again the beginning,
    His memoirs value less,
    He gets secluded from existence.

    For he couldn't believe himself,
    From what he ran,
    He reached back to it,
    All his talk about freedom,
    Lost in the cosmic time.

    The illusion of freedom,
    The illusion of authority,
    The illusion of dignity,
    The illusion of individuality,
    The illusion of false morality
    The illusion of life itself,
    All of these, just a game for the players in it.

    Why does he keep asking questions?
    When he knows,
    He is nowhere near the answer,
    And will never be close enough,
    All this biased knowledge!!!!
    Why destroy opportunities in a wild goose chase?

    But the answer is encoded in his genetics,
    He had no control over it,
    The belief that one day,
    All will be good again,
    That one day,
    He will be able to sleep knowing,
    He found the answers,
    But Alas! he died in vain,
    And so has millions more.
    And so will, millions more.