What am I?
A various jumble of bones in a bag
To be hastily treated with care?
Or a dot on a map under one country’s flag
That ripples like waves in the air?
Is the purpose of life just to toil away?
Over subsidies, apps, and strife?
Or should one worry less about GPA
And try to enjoy his life?
I could spend every day
The seconds always ticking away
In a couple of decades
I’ll look at my legs
Knowing they’ll break one day
I could waste eighty years
Living in fear
Of the day when my time runs out
Travel thousands of miles
And then with a smile
Somehow find out what life is about
I could get a nice car
A big house on the hills
And a beautiful wife and two kids
The American dream
Or so they say
With everything happening at whim
The “true me” is a term
That comes with the words
Fearfulness, anger, and pain
After all of the years
Of fearing my life
The importance is what my soul contains
While religious believers
And stock market brokers
Fight ‘till the bad blood is cleansed
It’s an ironic story
That we care about living
When our soul still survives in the end
I could have my nice life
And fight to survive
Against the fate that is too large to see
But the reality is
When all is said and done
What’s on the inside is the true me