I am having a troubled mind and a lousy way of interpreting things going on around me. Never had I in my full awareness or complete unconsciousness thought that I'd be the alibi of the devastation in the place that is home. Today, people are homeless, orphaned, deranged. They stand alone even when they are together. Like a wrecked ship in the middle of a raging sea. To call myself lucky to have survived appears to me as an insult to those whose lives were taken like an ant stomped by a kid, whose homes turned to rubble- like a war field. No wars can be as destructive as the war declared by nature and no one can stand against nature when all of us are born out of it.  Nature gives us a new sunrise every day, a single sun but always a new rise. It has given us flowers and streams, sky and stars, earth and gravity. We know not the start of these all, nor do we know when it will all end. It just goes on and on until it doesn't. What is the point in living numerous hours looking at the stars every single night, constellating each thoughts, naming each satellite if one fine weekend's morning a family of four with smiles plastered like their house's walls on their faces are to be doomed in the grave of the ruins of their safe haven? Fuss as much you do about the rainbows guiding you to a sunny morrow; keep walking the labyrinthine tunnels with hopes to see the light on the other side disguised as wider boulevards, never fully aware of the breathes we've taken -as walking in sleep. Why live a life when you know not your time to leave?