Logic and its illogicality

What is life if not for a bed of lotuses
With shades of crimson and mauve
Entwined with a fragrance of Ebony
To savor the essence of time and absence;
We face lengthy ordeals only to be gifted with the ideal.

The traversed journey is a path long forgotten
The moment you are bequeathed with the powers;
To know the future and lay claims on its alteration.

The temptation of knowing the future
Is so strongly kindled in our spirits,
But what is the purpose of life’s course
When its adventure is discoursed?

A lover may find the impulse;
An urge to know may only repulse.
For life’s aura is pointless
With knowledge of the needless.

Live the life of compassion, broadly sketch it with passion,
Confront your desperation, conceal your obsession,
And lo behold the sensation.
But alas, in matters close to the heart
All logic and pertinence are null;



Ask a lover and know the dull.
For when she utters those magical and mystical words
Most often can you hear a tragical and comical melancholy.

Such is the irony, when the lover had to face the lass,
Searching for the right words to describe the moment
He lay stupefied by her blissful words.
Unable to see things clearly
He punctuated to her dearly;

‘I wish I could alter the course of the future’.