Poetry- an old post.

Its the untold tales that make for story. The mystery that everyone is after. And we forget to see, whats right there, in front of us- simplicity."Everyone has a story" they say...as true as that maybe..must it be a story? Isn't it just simply life?
Truth is, life can get so dramatic, that it gets easier to see the drama elsewhere too. Your life somehow seems better. More tolerable. When did we become such suckers for happy endings...? And how can someone's misery, bring us hope? Is that how it is supposed to work or are we just that ...selfish. That devoid of hope, that someone else's pain..reminds us of our blessings? When did that happen?

We are all shallow. And the word shallow shouldn't be used negatively. We are all shallow. Territorial. And shallow. How else can we survive? How must the fittest survive, without being shallow. How can one survive, without thinking of , mostly, oneself?

Questions..that probably shouldn't be answered. Because too much introspection can crumble us. If you sat to think, then how can there be a heaven and a hell, if there is a destiny. If our destinies are preordained , then it cannot be our fault to have sinned. Then there would be no point in trying..and even if we did try and failed or succeeded, that would still be, our destiny.

Just pondering... our inquisitiveness, our quest for stories... in the end..we're all looking for poetry that's unwritten..chiseling out our big, beautifully abstract sculpture of answers, to perfection. To hold on to our sanity a little longer.