Tyrst

The cloud of emotions,
Its succour for the likeness,
The cloud of thoughts,
and its lust for superior reasoning,
everything starts to fade away,
the lustful eyes of mine,
turn into bewildering sight,
wondering what is life,
before the mighty death arrives,
I was fucking fooled every time,
by the comforts of ignorance,
but the holowness inside growled even more,
for not paying attention,
for ignoring the questions so bright,

The world itself is such a big addiction,
the drug addicts seems puny,
cause you have divided it in billion things,
half you like, half you dislike,
and you keep lustfully searching for your likes,
and you keep fearing for the plight by dislikes,
such is the world . . .  which you delight
 and die in this cage with sweet poison you like . . .

the marvels of human acrobats don't awe then what will ?
The meaninglessness of the life before death doesn't shake than what will?
but instead of preparing / training ourselves,
we chicken out ,
we don't face these uncomfortable questions,
because we are fucking addict.
3 days we can't stand without our bed,
7 days without home,
but worst of all,
not even 1 day pondering these uncomportable questions ?

The tryst is evident,
as long as the walls of inhibitions are demolished,
and questions sink deeper and deeper,
Thats what I feel and think qualifies as seeker.