The Fragile Cocoon

To be born free or dead alive,

the uncanny mortal won’t be free,

from those unwanted parodies,

time will freeze neither his formalities.

Unrest his feet touch the ground every time he is in the air,

blindly following the instincts of his basic needs,

he develops an unwanted mystical flair,

covering them under his rusted deeds on which he feeds his greed.

Passion drove his desires to uncover his calls for success,

throughout the way wanting unlimited access,

access to things he wants to lay his hands on,

were frozen beyond his high rise emotions.

The words were written as deep on the stone,

he was not the king sitting on the throne,

the sooner he could realize the better he could digest the fact,

he was just another of the god’s made draft.

Death is not the end of the journey,

neither life is the complete road,

there is a long highway one has to board,

death is just a tunnel between life and the highway.