To bE or not to bE

“Isn't the story of life strange?”

I keep looking at the line.

Like someone watching

a constellation from far away,

the letters of the line

take shape before my eyes.

Like every day

burnt beneath the sun,

every story here seems the same.

Beginning the same way.

Ending the same way.

Scenes from Shakespearean tragedies

flow here like a river,

from today into tomorrow,

from now into then,

from one season into another,

always in the same colours,

always in the same manner.

Life keeps rushing forward.

Every traveller on this road

has the same destination.

Only the roads they take

are different.

Different people,

different paths,

but at the end of the day,

every road seems to meet somewhere.

And there they find themselves,

standing in one courtyard

or another of the tragedy.

Thoughts settle heavily,

searching for differences,

trying to understand

what makes one story different

from another.

An answer comes,

wrapped in a wish,

like the lost tune

of a shepherd's flute.

And yet,

does such a story

teach us anything at all?

“Life is strange.”

I keep looking.

The black letters

of the magazine

seem only a little darker now.