The rancid realization clings to life,
that most of it is predefined by things
way beyond its own mere grasp, like the borders
of its origin and inheritance!
What can a life do about whence it came?
This life that responds to a certain name,
with certain aspirations held inside
a thick shell of skin with eyes, ears and limbs
and the face of a wanderer was born
with nothing, in nowhere, to oblivion!
Could it have settled down accepting the accepted norms?
But it’s way too late to wonder what could have been,
this river in spate has almost run its due course,
let this spent life pass its remaining hours wrapped in a dream!