Why do things happen? Why do I think? Why can I feel? Why do I get hurt? Why are the people who
surround me the way they are? Why do I bleed? How do these powerful phenomena exist? Why is
there so much beyond our comprehension? Why do I find weakness in my vulnerability? Why do I
forget faces? Why do we yearn?
All these questions and no answer. The poem is not a question. And neither is it an answer. It is to
process these questions without asking them in so many words.
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