Does the caterpillar know that one day
it would have the most beautiful wings to fly ?
or does it acquiescently weave its cocoon,
thinking it to be his finale resting place.
Does the butterfly have remembrance of the time
that it derisory crawled about?
or does it flutter about with such gay abandon,
knowing fully well the transiency of life.
For the beguiling God’s design, do we know for sure,
what is the beginning and which is the end ?
Do we lay ourselves to rest with our last breath
or does a new beginning await beyond such an obvious end?
I still can’t help but wonder.
For my father,
in the hope that he has found peace and solace in a better place.