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A Target? Never was it there. Or is it always there, unknown to me In the ambitious DNA of my human intricacy? For what are all these pains I seem to suffer from, And my never ending quest for things I dont even cherish, Had I stood happily, devoid of any targets?
I do not know
If at all there is, A Target, shall it always remain one? Or does it culminate in a blissful truth?
I do not know
If at all there is, That blissful truth, does not it give birth again? To A Target, ending up in a life full of targets and targets?
I do not know
But I surely know a thing. That I cannot waste my time sitting and speculating,