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Life is...

A series of are incidents,
related, unrelated
Which just fall in a sequence
trying to make sense.
Surprising events,
and all other adjectives you can think of -
leaving you to suffer.

One such program,
Which makes us rise from ashes like a phoenix.
When someone dies with our love and emotions,
We rise up again and are ready to love someone else.
The lost person,
just reduced to pictures
in old photographs,
drunken remembrances,
anecdotes and
leftover laughs.

Yet, we live on like a phoenix.
Even if life is an illusion that we dream up.
And as in dreams,
we still fear death.
We still fear that snake,
that tiger,
that man with a knife.
And yet, as always, we live on.
Still scared to die. And waiting to rise like a phoenix.
A prelude.