When Questions Pray

When Questions Pray

I feel uncertain about so much,

the world whispers, but I can’t touch.

I gave the sea my eyes…

yet I couldn’t even watch the waves dance,

maybe they’re just shy like me.

Why does death shed so much blood,

yet no one calls him a ritualist?

Maybe he just has a messy calendar.

Pains float in the empty space,

gazing at me as I run this unforgettable race,

and I trip sometimes… like clumsy gravity is laughing.

When Lilbed sits quietly,

recalling the voices behind,

his whys still get shocked.

He has an endless summer of questions,

just seeing and never speaking,

but questioning nature: why death… why pain…

why the tears nobody notices?

There are questions I still want to understand,

the ones that keep me awake at night,

the ones I whisper to the ceiling fan,

yes, even it judges me silently.

But if you can answer me,

bridge closer to these wandering thoughts,

or at least toss me a wink,

so I know the universe has a sense of humor too.