LIFE CONUNDRUM
Life begins with an intimate dance
between two souls.
interlocked in a tense sweaty passion
and emotional embrace of creation:
ending up in a nine month long
free fall from the skies.
Active tiny blob of tissues coil up
in intricate twists and turns
of carefree serenade.
leisurely mutating into a
beautiful human embryo.
Suddenly, a waterfall of celebratory
noises and ululations are heard.
word goes round and round
because a baby is born today.
Babies depend on instinct
while children rely on embedded
trust upon their mothers for survival.
Life is always in autopilot mode
from the very first day:
if babies and children were controllable
mothers wouldn’t suffer and
sweat so much.
Life is not a choice but happens to all
by design and marches on unabated.
Failure unimaginable had we been
afforded the right
to choose at conception.
Challenging life posts popup
from every corner as
age takes over.
weather of confusing climes
rolls above our heads
blurring our vision.
Season changes torment us
with fanged fatigue as we
stubbornly refuse to adapt.
life drags us kicking and screaming
and force us to climb, crawl, run,
swim or sink through all turmoil.
Life is a labyrinth of endless maze
of uncharted waters:
a conundrum and melting
pot of success and failure;
a mix of love and hate.
At birth dying and the grave are
like a tiny dot from space:
life wrestling with life is
the conundrum of existence.
By design life enables us to interpret
almost every aspect of our debilitating
struggles to overcome and win:
but awfully let us down
when the grave gets bigger
than our surrounding living space.
Life gleefully sighs at us
as the grave opens up
from under our feet:
suddenly in our final wink,
we discover that life is
a conundrum life cannot guarantee
to guide us through its labyrinth.
Life is a conundrum sandwiched
between light and darkness:
the enigma of give or take.
Our inability to catch up
with our endless dreams
stretching yonder the rainbow.
Still our conundrum
continues to gallop
tirelessly past the
clutches of the grave.
©20 March 2020
Sydney Pikelela Gutyungwa
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The author would really appreciate your constructive comments based on how you understood and interpret each poem. Poems can mean different things to different persons and all views can be correct as long as they conform to the contents thereof. This is the beauty of Poetry.
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