We think of ourselves
that we knew everything,
but there is always to find out
something that was missing–
like the lost feather
from a bird’s wing,
like the begone youth of
a long bearded old king.

What seems trivial to one
maybe important for the other–
like a blind daughter
to a loving father,
like a handicapped son
to a caring mother.

Entangled in our own web of thoughts,
unaware of other worldly beings,
we celebrate the bigger achievements,
while forgetting the smaller winnings.

We stand up high,
boasting with selfish pride,
in front of our invisible mirrors;
trying to hide from everyone yet,
our dismissive failures and disgusting fears.