People walk,
On a road called life.
They rush forward,
Afraid to fall behind.
There are a lot of them,
A lot of people,
On the road called life.
They cling on to their bags,
While drooping their heads,
Only seeing their feet,
And the ground the feet are on.
They don't see ahead.
They don't see other people,
Who walk along with them.
They walk alone,
Among millions of lonely souls.
But far ahead,
There will be a place,
Where the road divides,
One will be broad; one will be narrow,
And one will be straight like an arrow,
The other will be winding like a snake.
So where to go?
How to live?
In confusion I raise my head,
And there,
Among millions of moving heads: lonely souls,
I see what is ahead, who are around, and where to go.
There is always a path we overlook.
A path hidden behind the bush,
Long and zigzag and entwined with vines.
I choose to walk that path,
The path others ignore or avoid.
Though long and strenuous,
Confusing and disorienting,
It has the scent of life,
The taste of fulfillment.
There, I walk alone,
With my loneliness gone.
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