The Search For Meaning Poem by ashok jadhav

The world does not pause to hear my questions.
The sun arrives on time, the seasons turn,
And streets fill up with footsteps that pass by
Without a glance toward why they walk at all.
I ask the sky for purpose in its blue;
It answers only by remaining vast.
I search for sense in patterns of our days—
The working hours, sleep, repeated meals—
As if routine might hide a secret code
That patient eyes could one day learn to read.
But clocks insist on motion, nothing more,
And calendars refuse to name a goal.
At times the silence feels like cold neglect,
As though the world has turned its face away.
Yet still I rise, compelled to look again,
To shape a meaning out of what remains.
Perhaps the world was never meant to speak,
But waits for us to fill it with our voice.