Finding Of A Sort Poem by Seema Aarella

Who am I?
A fine countenance masking
deadly inner defiance.
Plenty of secrets are hidden in me,
I am really not, what I endorse to be.


Who is my Friend?
An aid lending money,
A cause of my agony,
Though far, never forgets to call,
Or who never leaves me at all.

Who is God?
One that created me
And also my misery
Who gives without asking,
And takes that, which I hate, parting.

What is Life?
Days that I am going through
Or that which I have to,
Is it a game or a race?
Should I also dash for my place?

What is death?
That which I fear or hold as dear,
With every passing day,
Am I running towards it or away?
A new beginning or end of play?