Would you have sprung forth unconsciously
into the world, when you were unceremoniously
caught in the forceps of a conceiving reality
subordinating your own hidden conception of spirit?
Did you realise that this lifetime was a pretentious
circle, even if time was meant to be circular,
because there was actually the diagonality of two ends?
Would you be aware, that you were infernally locked up
in the diagonality of the two ends, a revolution that overlaps
your own orbit? And would you actually become aware
of your frail existence, and that you need to manifest an exigent escapade?
How can a linearity be defined by Ouroboros spinning
and biting her own tail? And how can we understand cyclicality?
What made the universe a platform of activity? Is it an emptiness
beyond our own existence? Does it matter if its entirety boiled
down to our expression of it, figuratively and literally?
Was time the arrow that sent space snapping into all four directions?
And are we to believe that though it is all expanding, it
may just be a contraption to imprison us in an everlasting
strangeness? We live in a confoundment of hypotheses.
Does all this really matter when the real untruths are
more palpable in our encumbrances and societal conventions?
Do you reckon that we have any advancements beyond our perceptions,
if we discover to our consternation that our convictions are prone
to be punished by popular overwhelming laid down tenets?
We may be daunted by the finite yet tall walls of perspective of our realities.
But we can still have the courage to break the jinx and juxtaposition
of conventions, if we are spirited enough to find spirit to be the
avant-couriers exemplifying, to be able to propagate a collective of truth,
shutting out all that falsely beatified conglomeration of lies.
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