The Asking

The heavens are thundering
weeping for my
eyes that cannot cry
The skies are loud
Rebuking, remonstrating
like cumulonimbus
clouds without
the silver lining
angry for the
muted
warring voices
inside
wildly beating
drums that
is
my heart
Rain falls
trickling down
never-ending
Sweet relief
albeit brief
like a hymn
the song of the winds
that sings, serenades
a question
whose answer
cannot be bestowed
upon
for now at least
cannot be fathomed
deciphered
unencumbered
like the depths of
the violin-shaped
body of water
of Lake Danao
And the question?
Why this life?

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