In this interlace Between the branches Of a hundred deserted trees Where the light chose To shine into Their deep marsh Underbelly of unknown. Here life has arrived again Into another year, Into her, As she learnt to Melt into time And smile from Within her heart- The warmth for her winter. At this oddity called Time.
A reason for why you were born on the day you were born.
A reason for the home or street that brings you up.
A reason for your existence.
One for the way you are.
And the unavoidable one for how your life turns out to be.
Every emotion, every thought, every act, every word- spoken or not, is accounted for with a reason not always known to the limited consciousness of our human minds.
Like all these rivulets, we are pooled into nothing but the sea of humanity.
And then all these reasons, at an uncalled vertex of moment, will flood into your awareness of making any sense at all with vague words for explanation.