Metamorphosis

No longer my heart seek whys and why-not

Or the constant urge to connect the dots

No more I question the dice that rolls; in favor or in odds

I wonder, is this because of excess wine or me becoming wise

Which is ‘a priori’ and which one ‘a posteriori’

Or may be a bit of both, as no one can distinguish

In this metamorphosis of my soul;

I do not know whether to cry aloud or rejoice in silence

As I can feel the rain even the sky is without a single cloud