The instructor said,

Go home and write
a page tonight.
And let that page come out of you---
Then, it will be true. 

 

I doubt that's all there is to it

I am eighteen years old, was born in Multan.

A multi-millennial city, with fantastic history, and a quiescent nature

Twelve years, I learnt native culture and history, the remainder American ideology

Honestly there's more to life than just myself, what of the rest of us?

I believe that people are amazing; the world a wonderful place to live in.

Barring the bloodshed, the perpetual conflict, and the destruction, of course.

But a wonderful place nonetheless.

 

I'll stop. Such biographical information is truly trivial and shallow.

What really piques my attention is our universe, in parts or as a whole.

Is there a purpose to the wonderfully convoluted play of life?

Why the Big Bang? Why even existence?

The entire cosmic stage, so intricate, yet so vast--

I suppose there may be a greater meaning;

though the jury's still out on the matter, squabbling, thinking.

Maybe it's all a fool's errand, a quixotic quest, maybe

But the inquiry is irresistible, the stubborn desire for knowledge intoxicating

For eons, we have wandered the very same path, could there be something we missed?

Maybe something just not shared?

We ask, why couldn't the truth be clearer, the path to a satisfying answer less convoluted?

The Universe reverberates, "Why, it is." It points, "It's always been so."

But what does that mean? How does that answer anything?

Is a lifetime, or even a thousand, enough to make sense of it all, and find the answer?

For now, a lack thereof should suffice;

 

As this is my page for English IV