There is no excitement in monotony
And so we are given our little plays
There is no thrill in peace, and off
We go to the war with little delay
What's so special about beauty?
What matters is the power to destroy
We rake old wounds on the mend
Refreshing pains, we seem to enjoy
To despair, we cling
So life may have some zing
What purpose does the scar serve?
To bind us to our pains and pleasures
Is this all a game, you wonder?
This world, so full of blunders?
Different levels one must cross
Before finding the treasure across
Buttons like triggers
Moving us hither and thither
Rolling on, trying to find purpose
Each different, performing in a circus
Claiming, 'I am right'
For a few moments in the bright light
Only to slip into darkness
To merge with blankness
Our identity wiped out
Our existence as if not at all
All our angsts and outbursts
Just bubbles, in a moment, lost?
Is this the game He plays
Till we find we are one and the same!
One, too, with that Supreme
Flashing in and out like in movies
