Life is a play. It is said.
Everyone plays a role. It is said.
How well written must this play be
For I am so many characters in it’s story.
Or is that a big creative flaw?
That imagines so much as one, and one as so much.
I know little about how this play began, or why.
But I know the middle…it goes fast and then slow
Gets intense and then light…up and down it goes
How will this play end? When will it be time for the curtains?
So many moments feel like the end is here. Just false alarms..
Moments keep connecting like the beads of a gleaming necklace.
And perhaps, the only jewels you carry after the final bow.
I once thought I will know when the play ends,
By the long silence or thunderous applause.
But no…this play is a journey to know but one thing….
Among all the roles I play in it, which one is me?
If life is a play, someone wrote it mischievously,
Leaving the most important questions to the silly me.
I don’t know who I am yet, but I know how this show ends.
It isn’t the silence or the applause but that one answer.
So, I wonder now… what will happen once it ends?
For sure, my play ends with a full stop and stop it must.
I will know the time is come…
When I know what it is that I have become.