By Nathan Khiangte
Still, I don’t see
What the point is of every deed.
Time passes, everyone bleeds
And yet we’re still afraid
Of our own mortality.
So I asked a certain honeybee
Why he does what he does.
And he said to me:
"Even Life herself is clueless
When you ask her of destiny."
Then I was stung by that talking bee.
His friends emerged from homes in the tree
All black and yellow,
Patterned mimicry,
As if to say, “You're not unique either,”
Which is the outcome of infinity.
Because if it’s possible, it’s probable
Even if it takes ten centuries.
So if you ask why everything happens,
Maybe it’s because
Everything has been and has yet to be.
We’re in a loop. Existence repeats.
Everything possible must occur
As long as infinity is a possibility.