I was tidying up my writing-table and found an old poem of mine, written 5 or more years ago, meant as an epigraph to an essay:
Crowds around you hurry somewhere
Trying to reach their goals
While you try hard to learn for what we are there
Why we should live in this world
Someone who’s greater uses us in his story
Just to create what he needs
We are his tools, things he searches for glory
Life is a cart on his wheels
Asking the questions, seeking the solver
Is dead-end road of lies
You’re neither maker nor a performer
You’re a mirage of the times
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