A part of a process

A part of a process,
don’t know much about.
But I’m only a part,
I have no doubt.

And then I ask:
what is this process?
Why does it exist;
has it any causes?

I keep on thinking…
without any clue.
They keep coming
like bolts out of blue.

They are the questions
that catch me offguard
and force me to think;
they hit so hard!

Visions get blurred;
answers never found.
Ideas and speculations
fill up the background.

The reason of my life,
I try hard to see.
But the space’s so hazy,
so dirty, soily and greasy.

Will I ever play a part?
Small or big, isn’t trivial.
What is it- matters.
Need an answer, that’s real.

I need to know, who I am.
And what am I doing..
Why am I living?
Where am I going…

So many things..
They are spread around.
What’s meant for me-
can that be found?

Or shall I believe,
this world is mine?
There’s a process and a part;
where lies the line?

I’ll die one day….
This life I shall leave.
I’ll quit this process.
Some men might grieve.

The process wont stop.
My part’ll sure end..
Why’s this process needed?
As its part why are we sent?

Who did program?
Programmed me and the rest;
who know to survive,
who run and who rest.

Who breathe unaware
and never realize,
they are just slaves.
They live with lies!

These slaves of the world
shall some day be packed.
Their part will be over,
& then, they’ll be sacked.

They are needed for
the process, and so am I.
What if I refuse?
What if I wanna die?

That will be a flaw;
a flaw in the code
that makes me live
and follow all, on the road.

Such flaws we have seen
and named them suicide.
The process still works,
life exists with pride.

And I lie down here,
still unaware….
What am I doing?
Why am I here…..

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