O what is life?
        Is it a vanishing panorama
        Woven by the threads of different coloured light
        That no one has been able
        To feel fully?
        Or is it a tree
        Laden with young leaves of memories
        Being moved softly by cool breeze
        And bathed in the dusk light?
        Sometimes I feel it is like
        Getting into one's shoes
        With half feet in and half out
        And then running a race.
        Other times I think it is finding out
        A comprehensible voice
        An understanding heart
        From among the chaos
        Of confusion and din.
        My dear friend
        What do you think life is?