What it really is, Nobody knows.

 Born, live  and then die

One tiny little person living in a sea

Do my little job and eat my little meals

Among people who ain't aware of me.

Love a little, cry a little inside.

staring out of windows, seeing many faces everyday.

With a sense that no one knows you even with a million beside.

Then why all the conversations.

Why take people into your life.

Why feel happy to feel like you fit in.

No one really knows.

The beginning is always built in its end.

Or maybe both are mere illusions.

Our obsession of feeling safe,

Building threads to puppet our sanity.

The room you are sitting in right now will continue to exist.

Hold the same roof and the same stuff lying around.

But one day you'll be gone.

Your memories fly with you.

But what you have now never was yours.

Then why cry for joy.

Why work till your life's end.

Why feel happy when a friend is born.

What it really is, nobody knows.