On destiny.

If we are destined to fly, we shall grow wings If we are destined to die, we shall feel death's cold sting. What are we to see if we are blind? What are we to hear if we are deaf? What are we to say if we are mute? What are we to live for if we are already dead? For even if a blind man smells a rose, he cannot guess its colour. Should a deaf man sit through an opera, he cannot enjoy a lyric. And had a mute man stubbed his toe, how shall vent his anger to the world. Thus how can a man who has reached death in his mind before his body be expected to live for life or feel the sun and smile. If we are destined for happiness then we shall smile If we are destined for loneliness then we shall smile, at ghosts.