The Human Condition
A Poetry
We are slumbering in sadness, Marvelling at our madness, Looking at the stars, While tripping over the stairs.
We have found so much, And yet so less, Of the world outside, And the world inside.
Both are not the same, Both cannot be the same, Reality is not perception, And reality is not real.
For everything flows, From one point to another, Or maybe not, Who knows?
Who wants to know, That everything that has been, Has never been, Has been a perfect lie.
The devil is in the details, The details are in front of you, Then where is the devil, Outside or inside?
