It springs from chaos: an unknown entity
The child of the conscious and the unconscious
A friend and a foe to the oblivious
A reason for one to seek comfort in felicity.

The mind is plagued by guilt and doubt,
And lies, to oneself and to the spectator,
That reek of a fragrance that shakes one’s very core,
And company—a comfort one cannot live without.

The elder men say that the flowers were red;
The mothers claim that the flowers were blue
The adolescents insist that the rumors were true
The children say cake was served in the banquet.

But he who knows and does not know is one and the same,
And she who gardens is one with him.
The one who succeeds stands on the rim;
The one who fails has no one to blame.

Uncertainty is certain; but time will come
When the blind finger finally hits the right key,
And lids cover the eyes in a reverie
And a song comes out from lush lips in a hum.

If the painter can finally settle on a colour
To paint the flowers in the Garden of Eden;
And nothing bitter will be served to the children
If the cook can choose the most fitting of flavours.

In the beginning, one does not know the self:
The canvas of consciousness was immaculately pristine
But the company comes, then one starts collecting
Yet, in the end, wealth does not equate to health.