I write.
But what do I write?
I write about the feelings of the heart.
The unrest assailing my mind.
The pain inside my bosom.
Wherefrom you ask stem these emotions?
Our body is made of flesh and blood.
Chemicals are what make our system tick.
Yet I talk of pain, hurt, unrequited love.
Wherefrom do these spout?
Is it an outcome of the inherent lust in our bodies?
Lust to find gratification—physical or emotional.
Or are these emotions real?
We feel deep pain in the heart.
Our bosom is submerged with emotion.
Wherefrom stem this tide?
Why are these emotions so intangible?
And yet they are responsible for making life a heaven or hell.
The mystery of life lies in these emotions
When we breathe it is only an action.
But the feelings we go through.
Give a new dimension to the action.
Death is but a moment but the emotions associated with death are the crux.
They are responsible for the emotional upheaval that we feel.
What is the reality?
These emotions that give meaning to life
Or the tangible flesh and blood that is our lifeline
I wish this mystery could be unravelled.
