Why do the skies run dark,
when they could have just stayed blue.
Why do we keep counting stars,
when we even, don't keep the count.
Why do the books read words,
when they could have just have them written.
Why do people fret about the fall,
when they could have just left it to destiny's call.
Why do they keep seeking,
when all of it seems less to be enough.
Why do they think too deep,
when it all makes them to fret and to creep.
Why do they perceive that life is strange, when it's the same with a less bit of change.
Why do you dream,
when it's not sure whether you are living one or about to sleep to see one.
Why do we fall,
when it's all gonna end up standing up tall.
Why do they follow the herd,
when it's time for them to be heard.
Why do we have a habit to wait,
when it's nothing but a times' bloody bait.
Why do we frown about how serious is life, when it itself laughs and asserts out loud,
''It'll never about how is it so?, rather better it'd be if 'how' is the 'WHY' ".
