Wading is not easy when it is too clustered Nor does it become smooth just because you have crossed a few; Passing around a couple of them is pure bliss, Mowing down few of them is an addiction, Opening them on the way is unforgettable, Rummaging through many of them is a necessity, Ignoring many of them is a relief, Worshipping the invisible one becomes a belief. Deciding to do the right , And ending up doing what is left, Illusioned by thinking it is straight, Is when the human mind errs. To be or not to be is choice, But when you have to be, to not to be, gives you a voice Let it be heard for the dumb to rejoice. The doors of the mind are infinite, Though the keys working on them are finite. Running on the shores in twilight, Realize that darkness shields the value of light.