----

It is but a brittle body,
Miraculously alive,
Or am I some soul, embodied in it?
Yet what is the point of debate,
If I endure its pain?
Its brittle bones, flimsy veins,
A weak heart and a soft brain,
With breakable limbs and organs prone to pain,
One of whose failure is enough to cause death,
A void no one knows about,
Or perhaps a simple disease
That can leave you bedridden for life,
Yet, knowing all this,
Man flashes forth his ego,
Letting it blind his intellect,
He thinks he is that great,
But is merely succumbing to it.
When the time comes,
Death, the great leveller takes charge,
Burning his pointless rage.
- Raam. S

Written at 6:40pm on 26.3.2016 in my room.