There’s something about being unplanned,
About not being sorted,
And travelling without knowing the routes,
In an utterly enjoyable strangeness.
There’s something about wordless words in a game of Crossword,
About the unsolved sums of mathematics,
About blank space in answer sheets,
And laughing on something usual rather than unusual
There’s an interesting facade,
To everything unknown,
There’s something about these conundrums,
They’re enigmatic pieces of solutions,
Lying mostly in absurd,
Forever lying in their grey areas.