The essence o' Life, hast remain'd foggy;
'tis full o' mysteries, as that o' miseries,
Ye fell — The abyss' perpetuity,
Yet thou hath climb'd, a cliff, perceived obscurities,
Unfairness o' one's being, thou unsure;
Hence seeketh purpose, delved all enigma,
Self-satisfaction — Thy own being's cure;
Noticed thy folly, shrouded in stigma,
Cricketing locusts devour'd thy sanity,
Thou stood still, in life's ambiguity,
Thy darkness, nor light — All this, ne'er significant,
Thineself, unshackled — 'tis what's important.
— Shuma