Sometimes I wonder what this heart seeks;
The ideas and thoughts that flash through this mind
What do they mean,
Or what do they wish to mean?
I wonder if they were real;
Real- is that even a possibility?
For some claim the real to be unreal;
'What then is real?' seems an obscure question.
To define oneself- one must aim,
Or so a few have claimed.
How do you contain what you are,
Within the boundaries of mere few words?
The sentence is destined to be eternally unfinished.
A constant evolution- is what the self is;
If that be so- then why do some
Find this pleasure to be caged?
Caged into self-created ideological prisons.
A constant struggle to finish the sentence.
"ism"s and "ist"s- do not define one;
For one is born to be many-
Or so they say, hence let go of beliefs
For who knows-
As the mind sways away
What new world- may it encounter;
And that world may present with
What new definitions;
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