Every start has an end..
A paradox in our hand..
If it’s the end that starts..
Even this start will end.

Caught in a vicious circle..
Toiling to unwind and uncurl..
But shackles of own desire..
Just twist us more and twirl.

We love and we live the pain..
Rings of the same old chain..
Then in pain we love to live..
And on love we put the blame.

The waves, the beach, the sand..
The family, the foes, the band..
The story, the play and lifespan..
Alas, every start has an end.