Alone in my room
thinking of life, as usual
how one can get so caught up in the cycle
in the system, in this box self-imposed by society
A pretentious philosopher
that I am
a fool
with much to say but not much to say, if that makes sense
it makes perfect sense
As a wise man said a long time ago
"cows love grass," therefore, I must be a cow
such is the logic of life
to eat,
breathe,
work,
then die in sleep
only to wake up
to eat, breathe, work
then die in sleep
only to-- I've made my point
And so
the waiting for Godot commences
as I try to take off my boots
which cling on to my feet,
unwilling to let go,
just like foolish young lovers these days
who
fall in love with love
or
fall in and out
of love
like children deprived of a game;
a game
only fools play
when they know not of what is
but of what is not,
not
of what matters,
but of what does not
But pay no heed to my ramblings
go on with life
like evolved pre-biotic soup should
wise creatures
of chains and walls
who paint their front yards with
layers
upon layers of bright and dark colors
that the rains
will wash away over
time
And so I stand naked,
metaphorically, if you please,
under the tree
in my room,
calmly drinking sugared tea
being a pretentious philosopher,
thinking of life
as usual.
