What is Life?

Is it breath, is it hunger,

Is it the presence of joy or anger?

Is it fire, or is it air?

Is it dark, or is it fair?

What is life?

They tell me life is a timespan

When was it that life began?

They tell me life ends in death

But is life just a feeble breath?

What is life?

The green in the meadows, the shine in the stream,

Is it all life, or is life just a dream?

If this is a dream, then what is true?

Is there a life, whose dream we pursue?

If that is true, when shall we rise?

What shall we see when we open our eyes?

What is life?

I wonder, if life is a myth that God has created

Then He cannot be alive, so, is God dead?

If life and death were made, what existed before the two?

If afterlife exists, is there an ‘afterdeath’ too?

Sometimes I wonder, if I am alive, then one day I must die;

What will I see then, what world, will appear before my eye?

What is life?

The blush in a loved face, is it life?

The sparkle in fireflies, is it life?

The magic of a lullaby, is it life?

The glow of a sunset, is it life?

Or is it the mundane gait of everyday,

The wind in trees, the tide in a bay?

The wetness in a teardrop, the brightness of a smile

Or the profoundness in a moment, the brevity in a mile.

What is life?

They tell me life is a journey, where are we going to?

If we are going somewhere, we must belong somewhere too.

If we’re going to heaven, where were we until now?

Why did we leave that place, was it unpleasant somehow?

Why do we all the ravages of time endure?

If we know that life is a journey for sure?

Why then does this question occur to me again and again:

Why then, do I ask, had it been in vain—

What is life?

Digital Death

I’m walking down the deserted alleys of binary digits.  A dull gray sky filled with clouds of scattered pixels looms over me.  Zeroes and Ones flock around my existence—more zeroes than ones—perhaps in this digital world, like things come together more than unlike.  Walking further down the broken circuits, I find all deleted data regenerating itself—mostly letters, and ellipsis…

Last login years ago

13.2 Megabytes

Of lost memory

The server has been out of order for a long time now.  All folders scanned with utmost precision—no viruses found!  Yet the wizard complains repeatedly, “system error suspected”.  Perhaps the deleted files have stung the memory and made it corrupt.

And yet, all you will see in me is the living corpse of an untamed monster, growling and gnawing at the chains of lost memory that bind its limbs to the pressure-sensitive film cage—virtually choking to death among integrated circuits that toll the death knell of its encryption.

System clock reads 00:00

Smothered cries

Of a JPEG file…

Granny

It was getting dark as I hurried past the bakery, into the dark, almost desolate alley that led to my rented room in Campbell street. As I was passing, a whiff of wind blew the fragrance of a freshly made chocolate mousse towards me. “Here’s a helping of nicey tasty chocolatey chocolate mousse for princess Roselle!” Granny said as she placed the bone china platter before me. I attacked it instantly, and within minutes, the platter was bare, and my little mouth bordered with chocolate. “Excuse me, could you please clear the way?” An elderly man coughed as I realised I was blocking the pavement. “I’m sorry.” I moaned, and resumed the slow, weary walk back to the place I now called ‘home’.

Lost dollhouse in tears

A February evening

Déjà vu returns

She died of a heart attack two years back. All that remains is this reminiscence that still lingers within my heart. Wherever I go, she will always live in my heart. Those neat little pigtails she’d make out of my hair, those fairytales she told me every night, those lullabyes, delicious cakes, cookies, brownies, the little blankets, cowls and sweaters she used to knit for me…everything seems just as alive as I am in this moment. Where did those paper boats sail away? When did the snowflakes melt? I wonder if she misses me from heaven, but I wish I could hold her hand once more.

Broken mason jar

Fireflies still hover at night

The chill of summer.