Could I riddle you a smile?

(Til deg, T...)



blip blip blip blip
The fireflies pop av og på
before a lake behind
(that aspires to capture the heavens
and make it its own;
stupid lake
vet ikke at
the heavens are eons away
and a tad bit bigger
than itself)

And life plays out in a series of ballets,
Craftspeople we, weaving carpets
of sensitive twirls and curls
each weave intending into a coherent whole.

In a quiet trance of meditation
ask yourself the riddle
of life's existence;
i have no answer,
but it does seem beautiful,
to exist at all.
and to know that existence is.
("Not beautiful" The Kulk would say, but "Sublime.")

Distangling each weave,
i realise,
there's nothing left!

Mayhaps an simplification, but-
There is no ought-to-be.
Would i be audacious enough to claim that there ought not be an ought-to-be?
Nay. I give you that.
Baskets are beautiful people.
In the weaves, there emerge the oughts and nots;
but, if you will it so, there need not be
an ought to be.
Si?

Sigh. If you keep that aside,
we can still dance to the rhythm of life.
Lub dub, lub dub.
Because life is.
And, why not,
smil :)