I wonder sometimes

What will all my occupations

Add up to?

The realm of action

Is a confined space

That cannot accommodate

Dimensions of my being

That want nothing…

It seems to have come into existence

In sync with my preoccupations…

With the unfinished business

Kick-started by my intelligent

But clueless thought.

I seem to be on a perpetual quest

For answers…

For recourse…

For validation…

For acceptance.

I need to know

That what I think matters

That what I feel is true and

That what I do is valuable

And yet something tells me

That all of this

Will add up to nothing.

It’s not life that is in need

And my work will only float

Like discarded waste in its vast ocean

Silently mocking my vain pursuits

The only value lies

In doing away with

The idea of ‘me’ and ‘mine’

And seeing that I am not ‘a life’

I am life.