Of Ice and Strangers

What is the difference between all these people walking by,

and the traveling ice floating away, at the mercy of the flow?

No difference at all, both indifferent and fading

Both slaves of time and circumstances

People talking about people

ice melting and collapsing

the air filled with the sounds of footsteps

Of fabrics rustling, of the wind whistling and

the cars racing by

-

Strangers avoiding at all cost other strangers

As if afraid of seeing one another

Much akin to the islands of ice drifting away

No difference at all!

These old people with nothing better to do

than walk along the shore,

How I pity their ignorance. Their ignorance yes!

Of how pathetic and tiny they are,

none the more important or significant than

these oh so intricate and innumerable

icebergs, following their path inexorably

-

Just like we people, just like the sun, just like

everything really, nothing but concepts following a path..

For that is what life, existence, reality truly is,

a simple path to walk upon, until one either

bores himself to death or collapses from exhaustion;

to break and melt and vanish at once in the ether of all things

-

So all these individual things, really, are

nothing more than the whole, undoubtably

The path and the walker and the ice and the strangers,

nothing but mirages cast on the veil of our perceptions,

lies of lies, the truth so distant after all...

Nonetheless, such beauty in the maelstrom of life.

Bliss even, amidst the despair of it all