Where from we came, to where we go,
Neither you, nor I, none does know;
Arrival or departure, the signages are blank,
Crowded and congested, oft turning crank;
Bewildered, confused, in utter shock I stand,
Nothing is certain, where am I to land;
Pre-writ on my forehead with an indelible ink,
Mighty invisible hand, playing in a wink;
Strangers with a smile stretch their helping hand,
Back stabbing villains, beside me they stand;
Here comes the signal that I am to alight,
Tempest hurls me out, like a tail-cut kite;
From unbearable world, the journey to end,
Heaven or Hell, the poor soul would blend.