An illusion
or an introspection of our deeds
We are puppets in someone’s hands
Starting with aught and
ending with griefs
Restless souls, brooding over past
Lost in the mayhem of snippets of life
To be believed in nurturing
but become wayfarers of thoughts
Crossing many paths, handed aid to several
That was the mission
but juncture fiddled in like an alibi
Approaching the end-
What do we do?
Nowise…!