Existence,
the state or fact of being real.
But that's just an appearance,                        
it's more about how you feel.

                                                     The self,
                                                     is the only knowable existent.
                                                     Like the only book on a shelf.
                                                     Nevertheless, it's just a tint.

We care too much about appearance,
and elegance;
that we forget about spreading self-confidence.
And become so empty of effervescence.

                                                 ­     While life is so much more,
                                                      A complexe of sentiments and souls;
                                                      Whic­h we stupidly choose to ignore.
                                                      And­ rather play our mortal roles.

I remember being a little kid,
who nobody was worried where she will be lead.
A girl only too friendly to be friendless.
Too curious to be clueless.

I was too ordinary to be picked for the school play,
a kid that never broke a cup or a tray.
I was a shy child,
with nothing to hide.

I once woke up with my daddy gone,
I was so shook that from speech I was foregone.
Luckily it was only temporarily,
for when he came back I punched and yield in his arms so loudly.

A sensitive soul I was,
which I thought would be just a phase
But I'm still as fragile as a vase.

Little grains of sand,
Slipped through my fingers;
As I dwell on my dreamland,
I couldn’t help but linger.

What if no evil existed?
What if there was no bond of adoration?
Into this philosophical flow I was drifted.
With no awareness of the duration.

I settled in this realm of imagination.
Where there is no order of creation.
Where I am ignorant of all mortal’s complication.

Out of the blue, I felt a tap on my shoulder,
I turned around;
It was a reminder,
That I am still on this simple,beauteous ground.

Most friendship is feigning,
but in ours there was no fectioning.
You proved the definition of loving,
whilst I taught you the trusting.

I say "was", because that love has become an echo;
in which I find the comfort,
of a fading memento.
I crave for the love that I found in no ather resort.

Your kind is very few,
so I named her after you.

This achievable height,
To the unseeing is out of sight.
And that is why I write:

‘I didn’t awake with a simple heft.
I didn’t mount a negligent.
I awoke to the realization of what I hent.
Not unlike the unintelligent,
I was from knowledge, kept.

I awoke to the truth that I might die any day,
And that is why I struggle.
To mount, you’ll have to find a way,
And that is to hustle.

I awoke to disappointment.
See, it is the reason to my determination.
I don’t quite because of a fly in the ointment.
Oh, and dear, I know no hesitation.

This impossible height,
To the seeing is an easy fight.
The mountain peak is where they alight.’