The life we choose to liveThe us we build
The painstaking steps
That would lead
To this exact day
This exact spot
Where we stand
Still we feel
There is more to built
More to show
What is now is an incomplete picture
The complete one can never be achieved
We can run we can fight the storm
But never complete the picture of our own life
Completing the picture would mean befriending death
Whatever we built in a lifetime
Remains incomplete, is open ended
Has some loose threads and incomplete sentences
A lifetime is spent in building a single sentence, called life
And the full-stop is still borrowed
From the people who we leave behind
So why run? Why chase the dreams, why build the false self
For we cant even complete our own life’s sentence.
bohemian 