What is this thing, this thing we have?
That defies description, that eludes comprehension?

We are the aimless passengers upon this vessel
That steers its unpredictable course.

We are the actors in this play with no ending
That oscillates between a comedy, a tragedy, a love story.

We are the bystanders observing this spectacle
That dazzles with colour, with splendour, with delight.

We are the witnesses, watching theses scenes
That testify to moments of admission, of denial, of confession.

We are the singers shaping the melody
That cascades its frolicsome passage.

We are the dancers improvising the sure-footed steps
That sweep our willing feet across a carpet of glittering rubies.

We are the languorous gulls, gliding with synchronised wing beats
Across the electric blue sky that leads to the honeyed land of limitless possibility.