The Question Poem by Koo Kooo

For what I’m living?
I ask myself that question
whenever my brain doesn’t work normally and
doesn’t think as straight as
the way the light’s gone
then so bright and sparkling
so vivid and distinct, brilliant and amazing
hundreds of answers with every reason and
examples and evidences and facts and figures
appear and disappear as the pebbles
falling down from the sky, hitting the ground
and can’t fly up again
I search and search for the answer
the right answer but how I know whether
the answer is right or wrong I don’t know for sure
Sometimes I search in the library
and on the net and in my diary
among the friends and among the families
in the streets and in the movies
on the lips of Beauty and on the way that leads to eternity.
For that do I need to go to Harvard,
and Oxford and Cambridge,
and do I need to sit for the most difficult exams,
and do I need to consult with the specialists?
Or do I need to have the best intelligence?
Whatever may be the answer, whatever may be
the way that can bring me the answer
whenever my brain doesn’t work normally and goes wrong
I ask that question again and again
That gives me comfort.