In this raging war called life, we often feel distraught, numb and sometimes insignificant. We race against time forgetting that it is an illusion.
We grieve the thought of knowing that it is impossible to escape the fate of death. We are seeds cast on ground that prick and seek to feed on our mortal bodies if seduced by wicked winds.
We sometimes pursue deeds that lead us to villas where peculiar roads of sin meet. But the most ideal thing about our existence is that it cannot be rectified.
Tell us: What do you think of this piece?