9 months being a shriveled up bean
waking up tethered to a machine
who are you going to be in this life
a rebel, a nobody,
or a queen?
17 years go by
in a perfect storm your paths collide
you see him in material world for the first time
but he had been a hazy dream
since the dawn of time,
and world perceivable
Seeing him through a broken glass
You recall the beautifully distorted shine
beaming on you
magically, euphorically growing grass
and making all green, that was once blue
you saw this in your subliminal dreams
since the beginning of time,
and world perceivable
and through all the lives.

What is the probability of finding the perfect piece of gold
for the mosaic of your soul?
in the irregularity,
the chaos,
and the randomness of universe
and the innumerability of souls
and lives
but when you finally do,
hold on to it for dear life
you craved for it in lives past
Pray that this life be your last


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