Call It Life

Life plays a game that men call, Victory and Defeat.

A soul sweet bohemic knows no peace in it.

Whilst a mere perspective presents life in canvases different.

What mystic lies in such formless, indefinite.

Ask I, why wander in the morning mist to search out the Sun which sits Millenials away,

And why not enjoy the glimpse of the mist that breathe much life into the soulless beings.

Who am I to question the custom that ponders the discovery of life?

Who am I to stop the questioning of life?

Who am I to dictate the terms of what lies in relative?

I am just another;

with a different canvas, holding the brightest of colors to paint the darkest of skies.

Must a man understand that life exhibits the naturalest of forms of the Universe,

What came to man first was indeed life.

A thought, better a question.

A thoughtful question, called life.

Bound creatures ignore a free lifestyle.

Pick the fruit they like, they choose life.

The ancestral research put under lamplight to prove right; a probable theorem.

May solve the complex matrix and complete the mathematical exercise.

Sometimes even push through a jury, state a fact; call it a law, call it life.

Nonexistent but perpetual, if not I, who are you to define a mystery as life.

Now I shall paint a canvas of mine, Won't solve, not define, neither choose, nor prove.

Just write, and call it life.