by Bhuka Bijumiro-Jjumiro

Created on: April 24, 2008

What am I doing here?
And whence did I come?
I was born fifty four years ago
An' never gave a single thought
To these questions.
For fifty four years
I have been in a long non-ending dream!
The dream called life.

What is the purpose of this day and life?
Why am I here and where do I go from here?
Those that came before me are no longer here
Those who are here will not be here,

Tomorrow they will all be gone.
Yet many more keep coming here
For what purpose they come
No one seems to know!

What is the purpose of this day?
The day I have reflected on life
What does it mean to be living now?
When I know not where I go from here.
It is the greatest of awe
That every day someone dies
Yet the living ask not the question,
What is the purpose of a human birth?

They live as if they will never die
As if everything is all right
As if they are immortal.
But when death strikes, they seem to awaken
From that deep slumber of ignorance
From which none fully awakens
Only momentarily, when a loved one dies.
And the slumber goes on
As if nothing ever happened.

This day when I reminisce of life
Of the hour, minute and second,
I see illusion- a merry-go-round
Of temporal joy and happiness
Of sadness, pain and suffering.
But none gives a damn
Until death strikes again.

Making up my mind I do and must
Now and for ever,
That I will never smile or laugh again,
Until I have discovered the secret of life.
The life of this day
A day in my life!
The only day each one of us lives
Until death knocks at that door,
When too late it is!

Learn more about this author, Bhuka Bijumiro-Jjumiro.
Click here to send this author comments or questions.